


Home's Tale

by Haeron



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:15:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 37,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haeron/pseuds/Haeron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of love, loss and life after Middle-earth. Erestor and Glorfindel sail to Valinor, but what awaits is not the promised bliss of legend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The tale I tell you now, do not let it be thought that I tell it with any particular pride, for that is not the case. Much I will divulge to you causes me distress, discomfort, disgust even; but it is all of my own making -- and all the worse for it. However, each elf, no matter from what reach of Middle-earth they dwelt, has such a tale if perhaps not as reprehensible as my own. Ask any of our elven kith how they spent their final days upon the shores of Endor and they may spin you a tale of love, of their life come to a grinding halt as the sailing drew ever closer. Some will tell you of their last days and nights in the fields and the woods, walking slowly through long grasses and letting the tips of the blades brush their open palms, _farewell_ the land would say to them and they to it. Truly, their stories are as beautiful as the books in Tirion will have you believe. I was not so lucky. My story begins at the Grey Havens, as do most, but my story begins with an act as cowardly as any elf has ever made.

 

I did not board the ship to Valinor.


	2. Chapter 2

I should say rather that I did not board the first ship to Valinor, for Elrond had approached Glorfindel and I with a choice; to leave with the main contingent of the people of Imladris or to sail with him and a smaller company, along with a few privileged guests of the hobbit variety. In my heart I wished to leave on that second ship, privacy and well-kept company will be my vices until even the end of all things it seemed, but Glorfindel, my heart, wished to board the first ship. He spoke most earnestly of sailing with his men and his friends and with me and I could not deny him such a wish, even as my own heart misgave me. Elrond clapped us both on the shoulder and made a dry jest about seeing us on the other side. There was marbled dread and excitement aerating from the Lord, and my sympathies I tried to project as best I could without expressing my own anxiety, which was growing exponentially.

The three of us parted ways then, Elrond to make his speeches with Círdan and to prepare for a great voyage of his own and Glorfindel to find a place for us below deck. He brought my hands to his lips and pressed there between my fingers a soft kiss, declaring his protection, his love. It hurt my chest when I returned his smile, perhaps I knew then that things would turn out the way they did -- but I could not have told him, I could not have broken his heart so brazenly.

And there is the great irony, for it is my deception that would hurt him the most.

They left me standing at the Havens, the place of my birth, and I watched their retreating figures until my eyes saw nothing beyond the shapes and figures of elves, all familiar to me, all of whom I looked upon fondly. They were stood in small family groups, some speaking excitedly and others more fatigued. I was distant from them, more so than I had ever been in Imladris where I might gently decline an offer of a drink or a dance. Distance, departure. The very words seemed whispered on the breeze that grew stronger and stronger as though it knew somehow the spectacle that was about to take place.

The boat was a magnificent thing, older than I, certainly, and the scholar in me desired a closer look at the building of it and of its many ropes and sails, such fragile looking things pieced together to create a vessel that would bring the undying to their final home. Should I have felt excited? Undoubtedly, but I did not. I felt dread, I felt a sickness unlike anything I can describe. The grim adrenaline coursed to my extremities as I thought of moving my feet to board the ship, and I knew then as I stood upon the harbour that I would not. The damnable certainty of the thought scared even I.

I am not going to board that boat, said I to myself, and I detested that I might even think so, let alone act upon such! It was no primal fear, you understand, I have no inherent mistrust or dislike of the sea or things of a nautical nature, no, my actions were spurred by a much more abhorrent factor, if no less base, but that will reveal itself in time.

A bell rang somewhere above my head and for a moment I attributed it to my own imagination, the clanging herald of a migraine or some such, but then I saw the movement and I blinked to refocus my eyes; it was the final call. The first ship was about to set sail for the West, and I should be on that ship.

But I could not be.

I could not board.

The towers of Mithlond seemed too tall, the sky seemed to press down upon my shoulders and the floor lurched me higher to meet the crushing ceiling of yellow dawn mingling with powder blue; to press me to nothing. I did not see the worried looks that folk gave me, seeing me glassy eyed and misted, I saw a vision of the future -- no true vision, mind you, only a grotesque thing borne of constant and deliberate repression. The strings of the life I had fought for in Middle-earth come loose, I saw myself alone, utterly and this terrified me beyond words. Elrond would return to his wife, my friends, my colleagues would seek their own homes and families and Glorfindel, well, who indeed would be waiting for him? You might guess. A chill grasped my spine by its middle and the sight of my eyes went hazy around the edges so that the pleasant sky turned turbulent. Would not stepping onto the boat only bring me a step closer to such horrors? I certainly thought so.

The bell rang again, twice and then thrice. The seabirds cried ahead over the shore, competing to be heard in a competition already theirs.

My gut churned as I thought of Glorfindel, alone under the deck waiting for me to seat myself beside him. I tried not to wonder how our next meeting might unfold or how I might explain myself to him, and if at any point I might have been tempted to run aboard the vessel: it was then. But my feet were weighed down with the gold and lead of my guilt and I deemed it already too late when it was not. Oh, I could have avoided it all if I had, for once, deigned to look my terrors in the eyes!

‘Erestor?’ a voice asked, brimming with an innocence that burned me like a hot blade pressed to the skin. I thought about turning away from Elrond as he approached, but he held my gaze and his eyes were wide. My gut turned over and I wished then I had a chair so that my last act on Middle-earth might not be swooning in front of the remaining population.

‘Erestor, my old friend, why are you not aboard the ship?’ he asked and came to stand beside me. He put his hand to my shoulder as if to anchor me to his question and narrowed his eyes as I briefly met them, he drew all he needed from such a brief glance and not for the first time I disliked that sterling talent of his. ‘This is about E-’

My cry of no was more vicious than I had intended, yet it had the desired effect. Elrond removed his hand and stroked his brow and I regretted that I had added to the stress he must already be baring. Regret piled upon regret, this is how I remember my last magical hour in Middle-earth, and this too is a regret, is it not perfect?

‘You must get yourself on the ship, Erestor. Come with me, we will find Glorfindel and together, as a bonded couple, you must depart this plain! You cannot think to leave him to travel this journey alone, surely?’ Elrond asked, as though he could not believe the words he spoke. It was a strange backdrop to a stranger scene; Elrond in Mithlond with the world behind us eternally. Dreamily it jarred me to queasiness.

I could not reply, though I met his gaze and made myself as stony-faced as I might have done in one of our own council sessions. The old mask of mine was fractured. Elrond shook his head and his words became fresh ghosts to haunt me. ‘I cannot board the ship, Elrond.’ I said, my voice was unusual to my own ears.

‘You cannot? Erestor, you must go and meet your future together, you cannot do this thing apart! Do you not see all that you stand to risk if you do not move yourself to him? Do you not understand?’

As earnest was Elrond’s plight, it did no good. I was quite deaf to it all. Glorfindel would not make me feel better and to this sentiment I clung as though it were the stone cold truth. Is he not part of the problem? The core of it? The thought was cruel, my stomach lurched and turned again and I cursed myself for letting venom infiltrate my conscious. No, Glorfindel had been unfairly complicated into it all by my own disturbed machinations, as ever, as always...

I was certain he would be welcomed as a hero upon the shores of Valinor, how could he not be? The favoured son, the reborn, come to greet the Undying. His past life would be assembled there waiting for him to fall back so easily into it, and what elf might resist an offer of such magnitude? Glorfindel of the Golden Flower would be home at last, living amongst those he’d died to save. It was a romantic image, beautiful, but it filled me with a selfish horror.

Gondolin had not been my home. Where would I fit into this new scheme of things?

I see it in your face, you see the ridiculousness of it all and how my mind was racing ahead of itself, rushing off the face of a lofty cliff to plunge into the deep, but I could not stop it. Why my faith in Glorfindel wavered so that I thought he’d allow me to linger behind as he was welcomed back to his kin, I cannot say. But faith, reason, rationality -- they were strangers to me upon the docks of the Havens. I forgot Glorfindel’s kindness and all I knew was my own tumult and the shaking of my hands.

Elrond was waiting for my answer. He saw me look to his eyes and gleaned something from the exchange; a tension, suddenly arising between us. He saw me look at the boat, he saw me swallow and the movement of my throat. The flags were fluttering in the wind, white cloth waving a goodbye. Or a surrender. Elrond said my name and it was a warning and a plea, for his sake and yet not. Board the ship or do not; the ultimatum was upon me fully at last though I had long since made my choice.

I am not boarding the ship.

When I started walking Elrond called my name again and surprise was rife in his voice. Quicker and quicker I strode away from the ship and the gathered crowds, away from the harbour and the water and the Lord running after me. I ran too, and then suddenly it became a chase. Elrond called my name and surprise had given way to frustration., it spurred an equal response and I heard myself shouting back. Elrond graciously ignored my instruction to return to the dock where the waves were lapping at the bay, perhaps Ulmo wanted to say his piece, perhaps he had grown jaded advising the heroes of Middle-earth to their fates and deigned to meddle in the affairs of pitiful councillors.

But the Havens had been my home and I knew the lay of the land and the secret places around the towers and docks better than Elrond, though I did not lose him easily. A dozen sharp turns, a few more backtracks and too many sets of stairs later and I found myself alone. The adrenaline melted away suddenly as contentment to a fellow who remembers he left his door unlocked. The disgust in me was a bile in my throat, my legs could hold me no longer and I sank to the floor in one of the small rooms inside one of the smaller towers. I might have cried, I might have even run back to undo what I had done, what I was doing, I might have felt something. 

I only felt nausea. Focusing my eyes on the brickwork, I counted each breath that came shuddering and shallow but they all tasted bitter. Was it real? Had I truly done this thing? It could be described as no less than abandonment.

I was a wretched thing, and retch I did, and though the contents of my stomach threatened to spill; they did not. The still air did not match the pace of the horrors in my head and my eyes saw nothing that was before them in reality. It was rising in my chest again, the panic. Did I pray to the Valar? Perhaps I did, perhaps I prayed to my mother.

For I realised what I had done too late, sat alone in the tower. The bells were ringing and there was a great clamour of voices in which Elrond’s would surely be drowned. The ship was sailing, the elves were departing. Glorfindel was alone, I had left him alone to cross the border of this world and into the next!

My fingers scrabbled at the floor and a terrible cry came forth from my lips, I quietened myself with a hand clapped to my mouth and if anyone had walked into the little room then they would swear they looked upon an unhinged elf; wide-eyed, stricken with dismay that made the flesh pale.

I had thrust Glorfindel into the arms of his past.

When I closed my eyes I saw only darkness and I know not if I fell to some uneasy slumber or if I spent the hours waking and numb, I only know I had not the strength to move myself from the floor -- my strength had sailed along with the ship.

And my heart with it.


	3. Chapter 3

Elrond did not know what to say to me. We might look at one another from the opposite side of the ship and I would meet his eyes keenly, eager to meet my consequences, all the while knowing it was not _Elrond_ I should be grovelling to. He would shake his head, deny me my absolution and shoot me a look reserved for his sons after their misadventures or the more petulant of his charges. I had not received such a glance since our days in the army, and in the strangest way it made me feel young. The levity of it all was striking in its absence, of course. The ship was dour when it was just we two.

 

The hobbits provided a welcome distraction and my brains were picked over by Bilbo as though we had never left the grand old library in Imladris. I would feel Elrond’s eyes on me as I answered each query, and if Bilbo heard the thinness of my voice or saw the darkness around my eyes -- he did not say. Young Frodo spent the journey much as I wished I might; in quiet contemplation, and I saw the mystery of our destination was just as profound in his mind. We swapped many an empathetic look, he and I. I can ever respect a man who keeps his secrets.

 

Largely, I spent the journey below deck and ventured only to the surface to wake myself from the snatches of sleep I was able to steal. The waters looked very strange under the keel and I wondered if I were to dip my hand into them, would my fingers plunge into water at all? It was a crystalline substance and I felt the call now to travel over it and beyond to the waters of legend, thought I still felt equally bound to Middle-earth. I ever will be, I am afraid.

 

I would never see it again, Endor, and my memories had already started to become ancient and aged in my own head. The horizon behind us grew flat one day; and my visits above deck grew less frequent.

 

Glorfindel came to my thoughts often, and such thoughts were usually accompanied by a stab of pain in my gut and somewhere above my heart. He would have passed over the same stretches of ocean, who would he be thinking of as he stood where I might stand? Dare I think that he thought of me? And would there still be any love, any fondness in such a thought? Hope swelled in me but I began to prepare myself for the eventuality that I had lost him. A few elves looked to me when I suddenly gripped the side of the boat.

 

On one non-specific day of the voyage (time lost its meaning on the ship, we counted on the soul of the sun and the moon we held in our own bodies to guide us) Elrond found me in one of the lower deck cabins. He lingered in the doorway and asked if I had a moment to spare and had his face not been so grave I might have thought he were jesting.

 

Glorfindel had been the energy in my life; but Glorfindel was on another ship. As a result I fell into a kind of wasting lethargy and spent my time writing letters that would never be read by another pair of eyes and pouring over maps in the backs of the books Bilbo had insisted be taken aboard. They were not academic pursuits, you understand, no, they were merely modes of distraction. The sailing was a slow process and nothing like the treacherous crossings of the sea one might read about. Instead our voyage was plain and smooth yet somehow this only served to worsen the churning in my gut. I motioned that Elrond might take the opposing seat, he shut the door with a neat _click_ and sat himself down squarely before me. I lifted my chin, a subconscious, stubborn reaction when faced with impending punishment.

 

‘Shall we talk about this?’ Elrond said, gesturing with both hands.

 

‘There are no words I could say that might explain to you what happened, or why it happened.’ said I. Elrond considered my words as though they were a fine wine on his palate, and one that he did not care for the taste of.

 

‘Why it happened? Old friend, I believe we both already know the truth of that.’ the Lord said, I nodded, vaguely, I detested thinking about the topic even privately and so naturally my desire to speak of it was even less abundant. Elrond leant forward, I held my ground and did not recline. ‘It is this fear of separation, is it not? Most ironic then that _you_ have become the cause of the thing you fear most.’

 

‘The irony does not escape me, Elrond.’

 

‘Good! I cannot fathom it but then you have always been a mystery in your own right, haven’t you? I fear you may be your own worst enemy, Erestor. You cannot bring whatever ill is in your heart to Valinor, you must spill it to the sea.’

 

It was another romantic notion, but not one I took particularly seriously. I could no more easily remove my own leg and cast it overboard than purge myself of the _ill in my heart_ , but that did not mean that I did not wish it could be so. I pictured arriving in Valinor whole and clean and finding Glorfindel there with a smile and a hand outstretched to me, offering his endless affection. The dream vanished with a few heavy blinks and the ship creaked as though to mourn my happiness. That was not the future to which I was sailing.

 

Elrond spoke more of my shortcomings and self-destruction, I listened as the words bit into me with cold teeth and the stark truth of each one was added salt to the wound. I bade myself take his advice, to listen to him truly, but I knew he did not understand the problem at its core. I did not doubt that if I had deigned to tell him all, his words would be wholly different; irritation turned to disgust, surely. So I did not tell him, I did not tell anyone.

 

My fingers fidgeted with the wedding band on my left hand. In times of stress or restlessness I found myself brushing my fingertips over the cool metal, a wonderful balm it had proven to me over the years. I wonder now at how I was not constantly turning the band around my finger. _Restlessness and stress_ , thought I to myself and swallowed the bitter laughter that itched at my throat. I felt the promise etched into the metal, beautiful script that echoed our vows and kissed them to our skin; much I had promised him, in voice and body, and never until then had I broken a single vow. Never until then had I broken his heart so boldly.

 

‘You begin to feel the weight of this decision you’ve made.’ Elrond said, flaunting his little conversational trick. I frowned a little, but I was long since used to being read like an open book from time to time.

 

But even as Elrond spoke, a crisp chill struck me anew. I looked to the Lord’s eyes and he narrowed them for a moment before he leant back a fraction, bringing the tips of his fingers together in his lap. He understood. I could not feel Glorfindel; I could not feel the connection that bound us.

 

I was afraid and suddenly weak as one lost in the dark. Elrond’s harshness peaked and he balked. ‘You’ve yourself to blame Erestor, _Elbereth_.’ As truthful as the statement might have been, I did not want to hear it spoken so bluntly -- but truth is often a bludgeon of benefit. I covered my mouth with a hand to still any barbs I might spew forth or errant sobs, pressing my lips to my ring finger. Our connection had always been strong, so strong indeed that at first it had frightened me.

 

Yet now I felt nothing of he who had been the centre of my existence and the only precedent I had to compare to was Elrond’s own severed connection with Celebrían. The thought did not settle me, naturally. I thought of the sea, perhaps the sea had something to do with it. Maybe the breech was only temporary -- these were no ordinary waters after all.

 

I did not need to see Elrond’s pitying expression to know I was fooling myself. He’d softened, his frustration turned to sympathy that I did not desire, and watched me, slumped in the seat with eyes darting here and there. I assumed he’d seen each feral thought flit through my mind and had not the strength to hide them from him; he would only ask me to divulge them verbally, otherwise. He leant forward to put a hand on my knee. His grip was firm, absolute and I knew his words would be too.

 

‘Pray that you can reconnect.’ was all Elrond said, and nothing else could have frightened me more. Was the situation so out of my hands that it could no longer be resolved by any means I possessed? Did it now require the attention of the divines to set straight? The magnitude of the problem was such that blind faith in miracles was the only viable solution, well, I felt the last of my hope drain away from me in that chair in the ship cabin.

 

Elrond clapped his hands together then, effectively dismissing the topic (for himself, at least). He declared he was pouring himself a drink and one for me; double the size of his. As delighted as I was that the mood had been lifted in _his_ personal sphere, the thought of imbibing anything that was not a sleeping draught made my stomach uneasy. I politely declined the drink.

 

The Lord raised a brow and questioned me without voice. My throat was dry, my hands sweating and clinging the arms of the chair as though I were bound to it with chain and rope. Things could not have been worse but my imagination is vast, and _worse_ things I could indeed picture...

 

I found myself thinking: _this is not what we had been promised_. This was not what _I_ had promised; to myself, to him...

 

‘A small drink then, Elrond. Just the one.’

 

‘Just the one,’ he echoed, taking the stopper from the bottle. ‘Just the one.’


	4. Chapter 4

 

He had slopped his tea all over Celebrían’s settee when he saw Elrond and I entering into her modest cottage. I couldn’t judge the motive of such an impulse besides what was obvious; shock, but more than that I could not deduce though it might have been startlingly obvious if I hadn’t felt as though I were about to face down my doom. Had he deemed it so unlikely that he’d see me again after my disappearance from the ship? Had he not expected Elrond home (the word tasted wrong on all our tongues - were we to forget Rivendell at once?) so soon, and with his fraught councillor trundling behind him? Every possible explanation came and went and yet not once did I judge that he might have been _happy_ to see me.

 

Maybe he’d simply burnt his tongue.

 

Elrond left me standing at the doorway to greet his own spouse and Celebrían met his embrace as they had done on the docks, days earlier. Elrond had spied her at the head of the dock and his steady walk turned into a loping run. He had fallen at her knees to weep into her chest and she bowed her head with a smile, wet with her tears, and held him to her to the delight of the crowd. It had been a beautiful sight, perhaps the only one I had been able to witness with any sense of joy but even so I still watched from the window of the ship’s cabins, very much alone and very much guilty. I was long since getting used to making decisions that shamed me, but adamant was I that mine and Glorfindel’s reunion would not be played out before the multitude of elves who had come to see the Lord of the Homely House made whole and one again with his silver lady. And so I broke his heart at the edge of both realms; Endor and Aman, but such is the scope of this tragedy.

 

I think I cringed when he stood to approach me and some hybrid of nausea and utter longing twisted my insides into knots I felt in my throat. His eyes were bright and blue and so full of life as I had imagined them and they met mine and stared. I stared back. He looked different already in Valinor, softer, maybe.

 

I wondered if I did, too.

 

He came to stand before me..

 

‘Erestor,’ he said and I winced again, unable to intuit the timbre of his voice. I bid myself stand as tall as my coward’s spine would allow me before I answered him, but he had ever been so much taller than I.

 

‘Glorfindel,’ I said, in way of reply, but my voice faltered and broke. It threatened to turn to a sob and I felt my throat run dry, an awful tingling in my gut and then suddenly - an embrace. He hugged me close and sighed something into my ear that might have been nothing more than a gentle _shh_. One arm of his was around my waist and the other securing my back and not for a minute longer could I mope in my own self loathing and disgust -- I wrapped myself around him with equal intensity; grasping at locks of golden hair that too long had been absent between my fingers.

 

And I cried, silently, but I cried and the tears were fed from the sea that had sundered us and an equal quantity to that vast ocean might have been shed, indeed. At some point I must have lost feeling and strength in my legs, the realisation of one’s most ardent hope will do that to a person, and Glorfindel helped us to the ground where still we clung close. He pulled me to him even more so, ‘till I was cradled in his arms as though an elfling, reborn on the white shores, and I felt his kiss upon my brow and his hand, as warm as the rest of him, over my heart.

 

I covered it with my own.

 

A cry came then from Celebrían and we turned in time to see her kneel beside us and gather us to her in embrace, she cooed and clucked and said much about our both being foolish and our both being in love and I remembered then, rather too late, that Celebrían had not lingered in Imladris long enough to see the beginning of mine and Glorfindel’s relationship. When she had sailed we had been little more than colleagues, of course, though that might not be the entire truth of it.

 

***

 

The four of us were happy and hale once again and so everything, for a time, was just as it should have been. I see the doubt in your expression and no, it is not misplaced, for as much as I would like to say that my story of woe ended here with my rejoining with Glorfindel, it only grew to become a more complex thing, made worse for the fact that now I must lie outright to him. I will not say that I longed for the sea, for nothing could be further from the truth and my feet will ever belong on the land -- but there had been a freedom upon the ship in which I could feel and emote at will. Why could I not confide in Glorfindel, the other half of my soul? Ah, well, such questions have no one answer, but in the end you might tell me.

 

Celebrían’s quaint little cottage was a serene, quiet place secreted away from the larger settlements, both old and new, dotted around Valinor. It served us well and Celebrían has always, to me at least, been synonymous with safety and peace; traits on which she thrives to share with those she holds close to her heart. She would beam at Glorfindel and I whenever we sat hand in hand upon the window seat that the sunshine adored, talking of not much at all beyond all the simple things that were the pleasure of those who had found peace, as I dared think I had. It was folly, naturally, for we could not dwell forever with Elrond and Celebrían but the thought had not entered into my mind what with the _excitement_ of our reunion. I concerned myself only with Glorfindel; his voice, his aura and those kisses he freely offered to me.

 

When I closed my eyes I would tell myself I could fix everything.

 

I should have believed my own voice, but there was a waver to it that did not convince me.

 

The flower garden that Celebrían had cultivated there was similar to the one that had grown in Imladris (tended by her hand for the years she dwelt amongst us), and Elrond and I found ourselves glad of it. My thoughts turned to the Home across the sea and the flowers that might be wilting and bowing their heavy heads, forgotten by kindly folk of elvish blood, but then thought I of Arwen in much the same way and had to grasp my teacup tightly.

 

Celebrían offered me sugar for my tea and I accepted gladly. Glorfindel accepted too and made an airy jest about the three of us turning him into a proper civilised non-combatant now the threat of war was forever purged. Laughter filled the flower garden and lilted on the breeze. And just as I had remembered how indeed to laugh, it all came crashing about my ankles over tea and sugar cakes in the garden.

 

The conversation, to begin, was fine and easy and I gleaned from Elrond’s glances that he had not yet told Celebrían the full tale of what had happened in the Grey Havens, but then such a thing would be rather low on his list of current priorities, I imagined. The tea was full and rich and I sipped it with relief hot on my tongue.

 

She would be so disappointed in me and I felt the shadow of it upon my heart. At least it would not be _I_ who would have to tell her. But Glorfindel, yes, I knew the time would come to talk and bear all. The thought moved me only to a brief shiver. The afternoon was too tranquil for me to much care about anything besides the birdsong and pleasant company; another error on my part.

 

But then Celebrían asked us where we intend to go, and I did not understand the question until Glorfindel chipped in merrily and explained, on behalf of us both, that we would find a place to settle down after a few visits.

 

 _A few visits_. Oh, if only I could explain to you my dread upon hearing those words.

 

‘To New Gondolin?’ Elrond asked, in a conversational sort of way, stirring his cup with a silver spoon.

 

‘To New Gondolin.’ Glorfindel confirmed, plainly excited.

 

I tried to smile as though the plan enticed me equally but Elrond met my eyes and knew my terror. He looked at me with sympathy where I had expected something more stringent and urging but then Celebrían had always softened his harsher edges. What I might have conveyed back to him with my own eyes, I cannot say.

 

‘I could not stay away, already I have heard such stories that I know we must go and see for ourselves.’ Glorfindel was saying, Celebrían was nodding her head.

 

‘They will welcome you there as a favoured son,’ she said, her voice softer than her mother’s but more colourful than her daughter’s. ‘And you too, Erestor, for taming the beast with a marriage ring!’

 

They laughed, all of them, and my hand felt small in Glorfindel’s. He sensed the trepidation in my touch, heard that I laughed not and gave my hand a squeeze; the connection between us was mended, if nothing else.

 

I had sighed nonetheless as the conversation continued around me, anything I might input would be marred and untruthful and it was easier to let Glorfindel speak, to let him rub circles on the palm of my hand. It was easier to lift my attentions above their heads and muse skywards. How many of us had dreamed of these days in Valinor?

 

Rose gardens and secluded bliss shared with the one whom I shared my soul, these had been my dreams. Would New Gondolin afford me either of those things? The rose gardens, perhaps, perhaps...

 

_But what else?_

 

Elrond offered me more tea, and I accepted far too quickly.


	5. Chapter 5

Something was very, very wrong the next day at the dinner table and I knew it before we had even started our main course. Celebrían and Elrond had prepared a simple meal for us, shrugging off the propriety of _Lordship_ and _Ladyship_ for a time and favouring green salads over meats and all the trimmings. It should have been a most agreeable meal but I might have cut the atmosphere no easier than the cabbage leaf on my plate.

 

Elrond had told Celebrían about the day of the sailing and I knew she had, in turn, spoken with Glorfindel. He tried to meet my eyes often but I kept them affixed to the plate and the cabbage leaf and bid myself wait for a _proper moment_ to confide in him now that the initial discussion had been taken out of my hands. We talked, idly, ignoring the oliphaunt in the room with us but there was a frustration to which Glorfindel was using his cutlery that set my nerves on edge and my core twisting with guilt. Elrond ate modest forkfuls and watched the pair of us like he might supervise his children, Celebrían nattered about her tulips and silver thread and I ate without saying much at all.

 

And then, fate being the callous thing it truly is, when I _did_ speak - I lit a fuse; and it was golden.

 

The conversation had turned to travel and all the paths of Valinor that were open to us at last and all the footsteps we might retrace after Age upon Age of merely reading of them. Elrond and Glorfindel seemed enthused at the prospect whilst Celebrían and I shared a more homely glance across the table and the polished candlesticks. She made a jest, _you could always lodge up here - I’d give you very favourable rates!_

I, thrice curse myself, had missed the _joke_ element and enquired - _might we?_

Elrond said my name and it was a warning. I felt Glorfindel’s gaze before I met his eyes and for a moment we glared at one another through the fog of our mutual frustration. I turned away with a huff of derision that was, more truthfully, panic.

 

‘Are you quite well?’ Celebrían asked me, looking from her spouse to my spouse.

 

‘I’m fine.’ I put my fork on my plate and regretted that I probably would not be able to finish my meal. The cabbage would go to waste and it rankled me to think of. _What a ridiculous thing to be worrying about, Erestor!_

‘He’s not fine,’ Glorfindel said, very much irritated.

 

‘Glorfindel,’

 

‘No. No, he’s not fine and he won’t tell me, he won’t admit it even though I know.’ Glorfindel directed his voice at Elrond , who was frowning, but his words had been meant for me.

 

‘You _know_?’ I scoffed. Impossible when I’d spent as long as I could remember preventing that very thing from becoming true. ‘Do you really?’

 

‘So you say now that there _is_ something wrong?’

 

Celebrían had her hand over Elrond’s on the tablecloth and they stared at us both, transfixed by our sudden explosive ire. Glorfindel’s emotions are so free as to be contagious, no matter what they might be, and his anger served to fuel my own as they had done time and time again. But something was different tonight -- and it was not just our diet.

 

I should have bowed my head to him and defused the flames; he had the right of it, after all, and he was moved by love as much as desperation. But I did not. I let the bubbling annoyance travel up my body from the acid pit of my stomach until I felt it burn my throat.

 

‘Perhaps,’ said I, answering his question.

 

Glorfindel blinked and aggression gave way to great, heaving sadness for the briefest instant. When I came to replay the incident in my head during the nights that followed my heart would break to recollect his face, and more so to recollect that I had done nothing to soothe him. It was laughable, my treatment of him - how I had suddenly not been able to _feel_ that what burned him was no true fire but only a need for communication too long gone denied.

 

‘Perhaps? Perhaps.’ Glorfindel laughed dryly. ‘That is all you offer me?’

 

I said nothing.

 

‘Erestor, I know exactly what it is that’s eating away at you. I know exactly what you’ve been fretting over, how many times have I t-’

 

‘Glorfindel,’ I made my voice low, but he did not heed it. A nervous tremor coursed through my veins at the thought of his knowing and at the thought of his revealing so at the dinner table.

 

‘I know what it is, _who_ it is. But just how will you cope with this when we get to New Gondolin if you cannot abide even hearing his na-’

 

‘ _Glorfindel_ ,’

 

‘ _You see?_ Will you be like this? Unable to have a proper conversation with anyone without sweating and darting your eyes to and fro, looking for the door and thinking up ways which you might sneak away?’

 

And I said nothing. _Yes, mostly likely_ , thought I to myself but I could not very well admit that. I gaped at him and Celebrían might have been doing the same, but all that really existed in my plane of being were the blue eyes of my husband.

 

_Glorfindel._ He infuriated me so.

 

Because he was right.

 

‘Will you not talk to me?’ he asked and when it seemed that I would not, he raked back his hair with a hand. ‘I recognise you less and less with each passing hour, Erestor.’

 

His words terrified me. They were my own fears put to his voice and I rose from the seat, very likely giving the impression that I was incensed beyond words by Glorfindel’s impertinence. _Better they think that_ , I thought as I pushed the chair from the table and strode from the dining room. No amount of will, not even that possessed by the sons of Fëanor themselves, could have moved me to look at Glorfindel’s face as I departed. I loathed myself utterly in that instance and would not have him see the depths to which I had sunk.

 

But he had already seen.

 

Up the stairs I went at a pace that was not quite the storming thunder of an elf spurred by venom, no, it was more a slow march of the condemned man. I asked myself why I had done it and answered that I did not know, but it was a lie and I laughed; how apt that I must begin lying to myself now that I had run out of lovers and friends.

 

_The worst is yet to come_. It was a thought I tried to quash as I fumbled with the bedroom door. It was no use, my hands were slick and the future falling fast, grotesquely distorted from the vision that had been promised me all my life in Middle-earth. _Fix it,_ I pleaded, ah, but to myself or some other I cannot know, _fix it all. Keep your promises and open up this Valar damned door!_

Perhaps the Valar acquiesced to assist me -- the door flung open and bashed against the wall with a violence that came forth from me quite unexpected. My thoughts parted, dissipated like mist over the sea and I stared into the room I shared with Glorfindel. I had thrown what was left of my broiling rage into the door and now, looking upon our garments mingled together on the floor, all that was left in me was the urge to _cry_.

 

I did not know what was happening to me! Why it was that I had caged myself so and seemed content to ruin whatever it was that I touched, and all because of my pride - _why deny it now_? I closed the door and managed to stoke the fire before I slumped before it in such a weak swoon as had befallen me on the docks of Mithlond. Was I the only elf in Valinor who had not been healed of the ills they bore? _Fix them yourself, keep your own promises._

Sound advice. I pulled my hair free from the loose braids and pushed the dark hair back behind my ears and then I did cry, silently, and I do not know how much time passed that I stared into the fire unthinking and unfeeling; a wretched thing.

 

A knock on the door brought me back. I wished it away but it persisted, leaving me with no doubt as to who stood behind and no doubt that I must answer his call. I moved myself to my feet and stepped over our clothes, retracing my steps to the door and turning the key. Slowly. He was there and I felt him, separated from me only by the door that _I_ alone could choose to open.

 

It was beautiful appropriate, somehow.

 

I held the door open a fraction and saw the embroidery of his shirt before lifting my eyes to his face. Frustration, irritation; they were both there still in his eyes until he saw the lines of the tears that had fallen down my cheek. He said my name, so gently and with all the sweetness of his good heart that it was all I could do not to fling to door open as I had before and fall into him.

 

He asked me to let him in and I said no when I should have said yes. Tears brushed my lips, I clung to the door as he asked me again; I shook my head.

 

Did he beg? No, I tell you he did not. It was me who begged for him even through my denials, and on the fourth time he breathed my name and bid me open the door - I could not resist a moment longer.

 

Glorfindel pushed through and took me to him and we held fast to one another as though expecting a rushing wave to grasp and pull us under a smothering tide. We said nothing but knew that there was everything to say, eventually, his hands warmed my back before cradling my face and so we rested brow to brow. His heart beat under my hands that I placed on his chest and I drew my own life’s blood from it.

 

He said _shush_ when I opened my mouth to speak, ironic given his words earlier but I forgave him his discrepancy for the love in his voice. He smelled of floral soap and the scent of a warrior that would linger with him always; travel and far places. I rediscovered how intrinsic he was to my own being, how his body, grand and protective, was a thing I was a fool to deprive myself of -- how apt that I thought so, did I not tell myself such during the first time we ever lay together? He murmured something I did not hear and his voice was honey.

 

Then, it was my own turn to speak.

 

‘I am sorry,’ and I was.

 

‘Why,’ he asked, and his voice, so gentle, led me to more tears. ‘What has happened that you have not seen fit to tell me?’

 

‘Much, much...’

 

‘Erestor,’ he kissed my brow. ‘Erestor, I feel that I am losing you. It scares me.’

 

The balrog slayer should never have cause to be afraid. No, not the man who had walked the Halls of the Dead and seen the secrets of beyond the beyond. He should not have been afraid on account of me.

 

I became afraid too, afraid for all the ills I might have put in motion, and he held me so I might weep on his shoulder.

 

***

 

Once our melancholy was adequately spent, Glorfindel suggested we do what we had once loved doing so much together; walking. A simple request it was but it gave me a small hope I could not afford to squander, and so I nodded my assent.

 

We took a slow stroll through Celebrían’s garden and down the small winding path through the groves of tress. Night had fallen and we walked, hand in hand, under a strange sky that somehow had all the same constellations mixed in with some new ones. The stars blinked down on us, old friends who had seen much of our courting, and I saw Glorfindel cast his gaze to the heavens a few times, too. We will always be children of the stars, we elves, and there is a truth indeed.

 

There was no need for small talk between us after the closeness we had just shared - our twined fingers were enough. Glorfindel seemed at peace (the kind that comes only after a storm; a cliché, I know, but judge me not) after some time out under the expanse of the firmament. He blinked slowly and regarded the trees and their leaves and the horizon, too, but it did not frighten him as it did me. His gaze was longing, and I found I had grown jealous. Jealous that he might stare off into the unknown like that, jealous that there was a serenity in him, a restfulness, that I would never know.

 

He looked to me, my god of calm, and pressed a chaste kiss to my brow which warmed the skin. I clung to him and silently wished for another; a wish he granted promptly, if only he might transfer some of his tranquillity to me in his kisses...

 

Certainly, he tried.

 

Glorfindel put his arms around me, evidently deeming that we had walked quite far enough and fanned out his hands on my back in such a way as he knew would keep me warm. A few tall trees with smooth silver bark shaded us from the light of the moon and the wind played the whistle through their leaves; it was not quite as hollow a sound as it had been in Middle-earth, no, the trees here would never be ordinary oaks or beeches.

 

Something nudged my thoughts.

 

_You have to trust in me, Erestor, just as I trust in you. Aren’t we the perfect match? Didn’t we used to believe that?_

I still believed so and smiled into his shoulder. _We are_ , I told him and meant it, utterly, giving myself over to the kind of blind hope that sustained the most desperate heroes in the storybooks and ignoring astutely how it only made the lurking foreboding all the worse. The heroes usually got eaten by dragons or beheaded or ended up married to their sister.

 

But my dark foreshadow was of a different nature, one not so epic but mayhap just as tragic. After all, we would be leaving soon, would we not?

 

_There you go again, thinking when you shouldn’t be thinking._

He kissed me then and took me by surprise so I did not respond right away. I felt him and took my time in doing so, for my delight has always been in our shared embraces. His eyes were closed and he kissed as he always did; with assurance, with beauty. My fingers stroked the softness of his neck and my thumbs brushed his jaw line.

 

‘Be with me’ he said, a wisp of a breath hot upon my lips. ‘Like this, tonight.’

 

I answered his kiss, and answered _yes_.

 

We went back to the house and to our room where the fire was burned low to crackling embers, but the night was not unpleasantly cool and we paid it no heed in our haste to reach the bedchamber. I must disappoint you, however, and say that we did not make love of any supreme quality or even at all -- a mark of respect more than likely influenced by the fact that Elrond and Celebrían’s room was just the other side of the wall.

 

Glorfindel lay upon my chest even so, between my legs and lavished my shoulders, my neck with butterfly kisses and I stroked my hands through his golden tresses. If I closed my eyes we might have been back in Imladris, lying together after the summer feasts and dances and taking simple pleasure in the quiet we could share.

 

It was not quite so idyllic, I assure you. There was always the threat of what might happen next or, I should say, what I might ruin for us next and Glorfindel sensed it and wore it to a minor concern with his whispered words and roaming hands. It was a mutual apology we were crafting upon one another -- the sort where words would not be enough; it was an apology of the soul and half of me thought I might end up weeping again.

 

Glorfindel kissed the pulse in my neck and whispered to me sweet nothings in the old language.

 

_I will be with him_ , I thought to myself. _Even if tomorrow means we might be apart_.


	6. Chapter 6

Glorfindel was merry as an elfing on the road from Celebrían’s cottage. His glee was abundant as he trotted along upon his pale horse, following the worn pathways where a blanket of yellow and green leaves stretched on before us. I followed, more demurely, leading my own tan mare in his wake and wondered what thought enthused my husband the most; the chance to walk a road absent threat of orcs and foul creatures lying in wait? The sojourn through the fabled countryside of the Undying Lands? Or, as I suspected was most likely, (my stomach complained at my certainty) our impending visit to New Gondolin?

 

We crossed paths with countless other elves journeying here and there, some with children, some alone and some with great bands of followers cutting across the land with their banners streaming behind them on silver poles. It was strange seeing so many wayfarers taking so eagerly to travel but then why not? The great danger of the outdoors was not known here and I needed remind myself on more than one occasion that not every elf was as I; preferring to reside and dwell in one fixed place.

 

I was unused to taking to the road without a larger company of elves and diplomats at my flank, but Glorfindel was no stranger to such cross-country endeavours and needed only stop for directions (and inevitably end up chattering away to whatever poor sod he happened across) twice or thrice. Days went by without incident and we did not speak of our argument or the ripple of deceit (mine and mine alone) that had cracked our foundation, but I often felt his eyes on me when I rode ahead. He had begun to regard me warily.

 

_Is that what I have become?_ thought I to myself. _A creature that requires a constant eye? A fuse about to blow?_

I felt so sometimes. Every stretch of land we passed saw me grow quieter and retreat into the internal grinding solitude that I had slipped into at Celebrían’s cottage. Glorfindel would smile and crack all the jokes that had sailed with him to Valinor, much to my despair, and I would laugh and play the part of a whole, hale elf that was not dreading completely arriving at journey’s end.

 

In the moments where his gaze lingered elsewhere and my facade was allowed to slip, I resented myself fiercely. I was becoming a pretender, a shape shifter and complete liar -- and yet I had the power to absolve myself and neglected to embrace it! My heart would not allow it, my mouth could not form the words though upon a night I tried and took Glorfindel’s hands and willed myself to frank speech. It was a folly; I could not do it.

 

My heart hurt and it was a pain as cruel as any blunt blow from a sword, I tell you that much.

 

It hurt for him and for his love; the affection of which I was most assuredly undeserving. Glorfindel would try and soothe me on the nights we lay together in our modest tent out in the wild, under the blanket of the dark pinpricked with stars. My thoughts were as tangled as the tree branches that grasped for each other in the dark and it was a grim comfort to see in nature what within _me_. The open air provided a kind of distraction, it must be said. Such an outdoor experience I had not had in centuries, not since the war, and I longed to share it with Glorfindel, to touch him with the fervour I knew lived within me but my hands shook when I reached for him.

 

They had shaken when we had made love for the first time, too, and often I found myself recalling those bygone nights where the gulf between us was but a dreaded nightmare. Glorfindel mistook my trembles for cold shivers and the innocence of the man (whose heart must beat with molten kindness, I am certain) bade me accept his tightened embrace and answer it with one of my own.

 

The truth of it was not that I was cold, how could I have been with the body of the balrog slayer pressed so close against my own? No, it was fear that caused me to shake. I was afraid and remembered the words he had said in the garden, come back now to haunt me. I was afraid I was going to lose him and it was the first time such a fear had taken full shape and _meaning_. I was going to push him away. I was going to live a life alone. Without him, without Glorfindel...

 

And so, one day where the clouds were knitted together, I told him of my mind or at least, began to. We were stood by a brook that looked like it had been transferred to the land straight from one of the paintings of the First Age and Glorfindel had been knelt, splashing his face with the clear water. He had looked at me and rose to stand.

 

‘That could never be so,’ he said with a smile. ‘Never.’

 

I wondered if he truly believed that but dared not question him lest he admit so and his ‘beliefs’ shatter to glass. As content as I had been with his response, he was less satisfied with my own; contemplative silence and a nod of the head. I was watching the leaves ferry to and fro on the current of the brook, like small upturned boats for the butterflies and ladybirds if ever they dared travel by sea and fall from the air.

 

‘I know what it is you are thinking about again. You must put it aside.’ he said, airily, kneeling to cup more water in his hands and wake himself with a splash of it to his face. The leaf-boats quaked at the disturbance. ‘The history books are prone to lies of omission, or even outright lies depending on the cronky old scholar who wrote them - you should know that! They over exaggerate, Erestor, because sometimes history requires it.’

 

I’d smiled at his jest and even believed him for a moment, he knew how to placate me with logic and sensibility and it worked each time he applied it. Privately, we both wished it could be so simple, that the blame might be affixed to a historian with an agenda not befitting the pages of ancient conquest. It became a brief time of peace where I watched him rub his eyes and wash his hands and I fell to other thoughts besides the _one_ that most often dominated my waking hours.

 

Where was everyone else? Lindir, Gildor, the twins, Arwen...

 

Where were they?

 

_Out of reach, all of them_.

 

Glorfindel looked up to me. There were crystalline droplets of pure stream water rolling down his face and then his neck. His gaze softened as might have mine (he was a marvel of physical geography, even clothed), he blinked his golden lashes and smiled the smile he reserved for his gentler moments and for my more despairing ones.

 

‘We will be home soon, Erestor. Fret not.’

 

I smiled, but no, it was he who would find his home amongst the legends of the city to which we travelled. Gondolin would be his home as long as he drew breath, but me? No. My home was neither behind me nor in front.

 

I said nothing of this, and took Glorfindel’s outstretched hand to pull him to his feet.


	7. Chapter 7

New Gondolin had very much captured the spirit of its predecessor and the carvings on the marble pillars and doorways were etched with a kind of _longing_ so strong that even I, a stranger to both dwellings whether past or present, could feel it. It was a pleasant village where the essence of ancient grandeur was whisked about on the breeze, not quite a city yet, but with many rows of modest houses with flower gardens and blossoming hedgerows; the plants turned their leaves to the sun and indeed, Anor seemed to favour the place and she shod it with light.

 

She shone on Glorfindel too, as ever she would, and he and I walked hand in hand down into the main square of the village along a neat path of chipped bark and pebbles. He was rife with excitement he worked hard to contain and his earnestness was utterly endearing to me. I might have felt young to see the sweet smile on his face, fair and bright with relief and longing come to fruition, but darker, more base thoughts broiled within me; I had become a melting pot of the macabre and bubbled with dread, jealously, and a profound discomfort within the bones of my own body.

 

I swallowed it all down and smiled to him who was pointing out the sigils above the doors and the colours of the plant pots that all had the most _apt_ meanings. The folk of Gondolin would always have an affinity with symbols, it would seem.

 

He called out that we were almost there and my nerves must have displayed on my face for he laughed and bade me not be nervous. I smiled to him, again, and for the pure innocence of his request, but it was no true smile. The guilt I bore for the merriment it caused him and his answering beam was a weighty thing. I smiled because I could not do anything else; if I talked I feared I would retch and that would not have granted me a favourable first impression amongst these esteemed villagers at all.

 

‘Erestor,’ he said, slowing to call me back to life. ‘Erestor look at me.’

 

And I did.

 

‘I love you,’ said he, quite seriously, and with his free hand he brushed the back of his fingers down my cheek. I delighted in the touch utterly and might have closed my eyes for but a moment before recalling where I stood and the situation at hand.

 

He told me again that he loved me and I believed him, truly I did. _So why do I feel as I do?_ I asked myself with no real hope that an answer existed; reason would be denied me for so long as I denied myself the frank truth, it was a fitting punishment and one I embraced though not without griping about it.

 

We were walking into the final home where dwelt the heroes of lore, we were come to heal the last of Glorfindel’s hurts garnered from two lives of ill-made war; I should have been ecstatic or at least hopeful - but as it was, I felt nothing short of sick.

 

***

 

Ecthelion greeted us (both Glorfindel and myself, much to my own surprise) like old friends and brothers and his enthusiasm was such that it left me stunned and unable to ruminate at all, a blessing in disguise. He clasped Glorfindel’s shoulder and they stared at one another for a time until Ecthelion turned his gaze to me, standing rather sheepishly at Glorfindel’s side. I dread to think how I appeared; a fraught little thing, a pure raven child of the Noldor come to his tranquil home with a dourness that might well have manifested as a black raincloud above my head.

 

_At least it is better than retching_.

 

He looked away from me without word and only smiled, insisting we enter his home with a voice that was kind and musical and pleasing to the ear. His door was silver and Glorfindel stepped through eagerly to begin a barrage of conversation that I knew would last many days yet, naturally. Neither of them could stop grinning nor laughing and I found myself standing in the doorway, unsure what to do. It was not a feeling I was (or am) used to and I liked it not at all, yet how could I have demanded attention for myself at that moment? I could not.

 

They chattered away as we were given a brief tour around Ecthelion’s home with the promise we would come to know it all soon enough. Glorfindel laughed, I laughed; it was all very civilised. His house was quite lovely, in fact, the rooms were spacious with the kinds of tall windows I recognised from my studies of ancient architecture, there were handsome beams in the ceiling of dark wood and the kitchen smelled of bread and sugared cakes. Dotted about on the surfaces and shelves (lacking a certain artistry in their construction that was abundant in Imladris, I must say) were the kinds of trinkets I knew would stir Glorfindel to pleasant memory of his time in Gondolin, and indeed he remarked at them as we went and a new, heady conversation began in which I had no part. Just as Glorfindel was reminded of the home he once named so, I was reminded how I had _not_. It became apparent with each footstep placed behind those of theirs that I was very much a stranger to these memories, to this house...

 

Was it jealousy that twinged at me then, as I saw Ecthelion take Glorfindel’s bags up to our room? Ah, I feel as though we come now to the ugly heart of the issue -- but do not do me the disservice of attributing my mottled grief to jealousy alone, pray. But I felt the barb of _something_ very alike to irritation as they gambolled up the stairs, Ecthelion with Glorfindel’s possessions and Glorfindel with my own. Neither of them looked back and so I wondered if I were even supposed to follow them at all!

 

The most obscene thought (that I neglect to put into words very much on purpose) accosted me then and I deemed it prudent that I _did_ follow, and took the opportunity whilst they nattered to cast a glance at the artworks on the walls, into any rooms where the door might just slightly be ajar and where I maybe ought not to be peeping. Ecthelion laughed suddenly and loudly and I near toppled back down the staircase, whispering a frantic oath under my breath as I clung to the banister for dear, grim life.

 

It seemed as though they were continuing a conversation started three Ages ago judging by the familiarity with which they spoke to one another and all the jokes interwove into their speech that left me none the wiser. I had never seen Glorfindel in such a mood, true, his idiolect always shifted when he spoke to his men and fellow soldiers, but now he spoke with an ease and a joy I had only ever heard him use speaking to one other: namely myself. _Erestor_ , I warned myself, _feed not the beast in your breast_. Sound advice, soundly ignored.

 

I almost walked in to Glorfindel, not noticing our tour had come to an end. As I bumped into him gently he wound an arm about my shoulders and despite all I had _just_ suffered I felt myself smiling upon receiving such a gesture. We were stood in the doorway of the guest room which was to become our room, my stomach lurched. I deliberately did not peep into that room.

 

‘But the hour of the evening comes soon and these lands are a fine spot for our horses, will you come riding with us?’ Ecthelion asked, quite merrily.

 

‘Aye, a mighty idea!’ Glorfindel said, agreeing on the spot. I could not fault him so, his joy was often in riding and the journey across the sea had long separated him from his steed. The journey to New Gondolin had not been the galloping across golden fields which was promised to him now, either.

 

Temptation stirred in my husband.

 

‘And you, Erestor?’ Ecthelion asked, my name sounding familiar on his tongue already. I felt myself seize up at the question, surprised that an invitation had been issued to me at all. Ecthelion mistook whatever tumult I was feeling for reluctance, apparently. ‘Do not feel compelled so say yes as quickly as your husband, here, there’s plenty else to do if the wilds are not to your liking!’

 

‘Then thank you. I will remain here upon two legs,’ said I. ‘The city is new to me in a way it is not to Glorfindel, I will find somewhere to be.’

 

Glorfindel kissed the side of my temple and asked, for my ears alone, if I was certain. I said I was very certain indeed and he gave me a look of understanding marbled with a sadness that had not been my intent. I wanted to kiss him and take away that look in his eye and would have done so if not for the third one of us stood in the doorway. Ecthelion, however, smiled too, ‘Very well,’ he said, still rather cheerily.

 

He was a perfect host which only served to heighten my guilt -- amongst other things of a less savoury nature. And plenty of time I was given to dwell on defining them to a morbid clarity as I walked the path to the stables with my husband and his greatest friend of cherished lore. The light had turned soft and orange by the dusky magic of the evening and I watched them ride out together along with a handful of others, away into a clear sky beyond the village. The two legends of Gondolin, the Lords of the Golden Flower and the Fountain by the side of the other again at last. They had been immortalised in ink and stone together as Glorfindel and I had never been, no, not in all our years of marriage.

 

And I wondered then would more tales be told of them as the pair all Arda knew them to be? _Is his soul truly complete now_? I thought. _Is he whole at last?_ It was a dour time when it should have been the utter opposite. Even if such thoughts were true I questioned myself as to why I would feel so grimly about it being so, why should I not want such for Glorfindel? It was absurd! I was absurd, quite absolutely and yes, I see you agree.

 

I walked back to the house, ignoring completely Ecthelion’s words of there being _plenty else to do_. Nothing appealed to me more than sleep, dreamless and deep and undisturbed. When I reached the doorway I turned to look down the rows of houses, through the branches of the trees where the sun tried so very hard to reach me. It was gorgeous, New Gondolin was the haven Glorfindel had always dreamt.

 

But I was stood alone and resigned myself to _watch_ whereas I should have made a grander effort, oh, I knew that from the start. The village was beautiful, bathed in a sunset glow, but as I looked to yonder I saw only each facet of my life, tarnished, and falling out from under me.

 

_I fell._


	8. Chapter 8

The love Ecthelion bore New Gondolin was astounding and apparent most merrily as he guided us around the village. He might have stopped to stoop and tell us of each flower rising from the green turf and each leaf upon the tall, thin trees had the sun not already been perched at her zenith. We had an appointment to keep, but haste was not a thing that existed here in these fae lands though I felt I might have carried some over in my blood, ha! But it was in this opportunity for leisure and calm that Glorfindel basked in, of course, his own love of the land starting to blossom to a fierce and beautiful thing despite us only having arrived a handful of days ago, but New Gondolin was the vision of his ancient city as it _should_ have been; peaceful, quiet and most of all - whole and unspoiled by the hand of evil.

 

Ecthelion was younger of face than I had expected. He laughed often and freely and his hair was dark and exotic and laced with silver and jewels; modest in the way a _Lord_ may be modest. He and Glorfindel struck an imposing image together.

 

To see them now it was almost as though the Fall had never happened. They walked side by side (with me pottering along half a pace behind) and spoke quite plainly of past, present and future but then what else did I expect? For them to be recounting the moment of their dooms to one another under the tree blossoms? No, of course not. But such a conversation would take place, I had no doubt, in some form or another and it would not be a conversation I would be privy to. It was an entirely understandable thing but still it sat uneasily with me. _Rationality_ , howeverwas a quality I had long since bypassed on my descent.

 

_Think not of it,_ I thought, and concentrated quite intently on matching my footsteps to Glorfindel’s.

                                                                                   

We were being taken to a fountain and as you might expect, it belonged to Ecthelion. Created in the visage of its predecessor (or so I was told), it was strewn with the symbols of renewal appropriate to his Household, with silver chains and iced diamonds encrusting the base of polished marble. There were flowers growing in a tidy bed part way around the fountain, small yellow halos with full petals and green stalks well-watered, and as grand a piece of architectural design the fountain was, it was these flowers that captured my attention so.

 

My footsteps faltered. A second glance was required. They were Glorfindel’s flowers, the symbol he had bore across the Ages -- growing around Ecthelion’s fountain. I coughed suddenly to mask my balking (a knee-jerk reaction to such unfortunate surprises) and Glorfindel turned to ask if I were alright and smiled sweetly when I nodded my untruthful affirmation.

 

‘Good morrow to you, ladies! Though soon the morrow will turn to noon, forgive our lateness -- our tour took us longer than anticipated.’ Ecthelion was declaring loudly to a group of finely dressed elleth gathered around the fountain seat. They looked to us three with bright faces, etched upon which were age and wisdom and their features were unfamiliar and striking to me, much in the way Glorfindel’s had been when first he came to Rivendell.

 

Over we stepped and joined them around the still water, perching on the marble flat of the fountain’s edge. It was not the most pleasant seat, I can tell you, but nobody else seemed to mind much. _You’ve spent too much time in cosy armchairs, Erestor_. I was in the company of warriors now, after all, and so straightened my back in the hope these ladies might think _I_ had been a might warrior, too. The women were overjoyed to see their golden stranger returned to them and greeted him each, one by one (he knew all their names), some pinched his cheeks as a mother might a wayward child and I must admit the sight was heart-warming. ‘Worry not,’ they said. ‘We can make allowances for our lost Lord and his guest!’

 

_Guest? Guest._ I blinked and might have smiled incredulously. Was I of such little import that I was considered a mere guest? Nothing more? Blessedly, they mistook my bemusement for politeness but Glorfindel, having been bound to me too long to mistake such a smile of mine, mistook nothing.

 

‘Pray, address him as befits an elf of his standing and reputation,’ he said, using a hand to gesture at me as though I were a sculpture for their perusal. The ladies looked at me, curious, Ecthelion was watching Glorfindel with a proud sort of smile just turning the corners of his lips and I reckoned I knew his thoughts. _Yes, he is settling back into the life quite wonderfully isn’t he?_ Ecthelion’s joy was destined to be twinned with my anxiety, it seemed.

 

‘And who is he? asked an elleth whose voice was rich and whose eyes held mine steadfast when to her I turned. It reminded me of Elrond’s little trick, how he might distract you with conversation whilst he picks and chooses what information he seeks most from your open mind, like picking a ripe grape from a vine. ‘This sweet, young thing without a name.’

 

‘Advisor to the High King Gil-Galad, Elrond Half-elven’s chief counsellor, guardian of the Evenstar, and my husband.’

 

It was the first bliss I had felt for such a long time, being introduced so by one who spoke each word as the complete, indisputable truth. Glorfindel met my eyes and lifted my hand to his lips and I dared, for a second or two, to caress his cheek. As if on cue there came a dreamy sigh from the congregation of elleth gathered witnessing our little display of affection and immediately I withdrew to a more forthright position (if a blush had crept onto my cheeks I will never admit it). Glorfindel laughed, a sound to warm the heart.

 

He put an arm around my shoulders and drew me close.

 

‘And his name is Erestor.’

 

***

 

We dined upon the grass that day and the fruits were sweet, light and cleansing to the palate of mine that had been so bitter of late. I seated myself with the women of the fountain who, I found much to my surprise, proved to be excellent company. Each spoke as I might speak and in time (and after many cautious slices of orange and apple and pear) I added my own voice to theirs; they welcomed it and thick and fast we fell into familiar conversation.

 

Of Lindon, Imladris and Lórien they wanted to know and I readily accepted their questions though my heart hurt still at the memory of those places so recently departed. I asked myself what I truly missed; the lands themselves or the life I had when I abode therein? Most likely it was a melancholy mixture of the two, colouring my voice so that the elleth smiled and one patted my knee with a delicate hand, asking instead of Arwen and the twins and their youths spent in the embrace of the valley.

 

I agreed to the request, it would be a delight to recall those images to mind but only on the promise that they, in turn, tell me of Idril and her child when they could be named “young”. They smiled, the women of New Gondolin, and said _of course_.

 

And it might have been a wonderful afternoon in which I could have returned to myself and learned of a few secrets which might delight Elrond when next we met, had not my attentions been drawn constantly to Ecthelion and Glorfindel, sat a little ways off from our group and talking animatedly about something or the other. Try as I might to eavesdrop nonchalantly, I could not pick up a word of their speech that made sense to me.

 

One of the ladies (with fine, long lashes and a most mischievous smirk) saw how my concentration wavered in my storytelling upon a time, and saw too the cause of it. She _hummed_ in the way that portents further speech and I felt my gut contract at such a sound paired with a most knowing glance.

 

‘Now that he has seen it may be done, he’ll take a leaf from your book, dear Erestor, and sink his claws into Glorfindel just as deeply!’ and then, to my absolute disbelief, she and a handful of others found this to be _amusing_. They laughed and it sounded like the birdsong from the sparrows and starlings that flitted overhead to chase the small flies up into the clouds. Yet to me its sweetness was marred by stark absurdity that had struck me like a flat blow to the stomach. Was I completely uncultured? Was this the very height of Gondolin-esque humour?

 

_Ridicule, really?_

 

Even if it had been - I still would not have laughed.

 

‘Pay them no mind, Erestor!’ said the elleth who had first inquired after my name, seeing my distinct lack of mirth. ‘Do not tease him so! He’s done well with Glorfindel, this small raven of ours. You’ve made him happy, at last.’ and she smiled then, warmly, so that I understood her words held no mocking undertone.

 

I bowed to convey my thanks and held my tongue as chatter struck up once again. I let it wash over me without listening too intently to their lilting voices and light laughter that so matched the lay of the land upon which we sat; the flowers nodded their heads though the breeze was light as if they listened and laughed too. To Glorfindel I looked then, regretting slightly how easy it had been to see myself become disinterested in converse with my new acquaintances. He was caught in the raptures of laughter and I had not seen him so merry in such a long time; I exhaled.

 

The elleth, as wise as she might be, was wrong; I had not made him happy, of course not! I had broken his heart and now who was it restoring his spirit? Not me, that was quite certain. I was offered another slice of fruit and I took a shining segment of orange, holding it between my fingers for a moment and testing its elasticity with a slight pinch.

 

If Ecthelion could heal him, my husband of centuries, then perhaps some good would come of our sojourn. _It should be me_ , I told myself as I bit shyly into the orange, _I should be the one sat with him and to whom he might confide_. But then any conversation of serious matters would have turned to disaster with me in my current state, no, it would not be possible. I would need to find my own healer in this foreign place, though I had long since come to believe there was only one who might save me now.

 

All I had to do was persuade him to the task.

 

‘Whatever are you thinking of, Erestor? With a look as profound as yours I simply must know.’ I was asked and a dozen eager faces with two dozen shining eyes echoed the question so I felt quite on the spot.

 

I took my time in finishing my orange slice and then it was my turn to _hmm_ and _hum_.

 

‘That,’ I said, licking my lips and smiling as best I remembered. ‘Would be telling. My secrets are worth more than just a polite request to their unfurling.’

 

A ripple of laughter, a dozen white smiles.

 

‘ _Elbereth_ , fetch him the wine, then!’


	9. Chapter 9

I began to realise one thing in New Gondolin; none of the folk there seemed to understand the allure of an evening spent indoors, beside a fireplace with a cup of something warm between one’s hands. No, such traditions were completely alien and most days, afternoons, evenings and nights were spent outdoors; in all weather, too, I might add. Clouds and showers brooked no bother for these strange elves and whilst they delighted in the open air and blanket sky I often found myself longing for the comforts of a _home_ ; one with a roof, a ceiling and four solid walls.

 

Reclusive? Yes, an apt word that has been used to my description more than once! And I admit it freely, but mind you do not smirk overmuch.

 

The longing came often on the mornings and evening spent out in the tulip garden or at the side of the fountain, perched on the edge of the seat and the conversation, laughing appropriately whenever it seemed prudent to do so but otherwise retreating to my own thoughts. I daresay the people of New Gondolin quickly considered me a _recluse_ , too, but they said nothing and continued to issue to me invitations to gatherings despite my growing reputation as a mute.

 

One day that stirs my memory and quite finely illustrates my point (along with another that will become abundantly clear, momentarily), was a rather overcast day where the wind and breeze were absent and the trees swayed not. The clouds were heavy overhead but for the joy and cheer of the dozen elves sat on patchwork blankets in the goat fields (yes, you heard me rightly), the skies might have been blue. Tea and scones were passed around and I was glad for the food; if I was eating, I would not be expected to talk - no civilised elf would dream of speaking with a mouth full of baked goods.

 

The elleth from the fountain episode had seated herself beside me and passed me butter and a heavy butter knife. She asked if I liked the large flowers neatly potted in terracotta bowls and I said I did indeed, and true, their colours were of an astounding vibrancy; orange, red and yellow. Yet it was for the sight of a wispy dandelion clock that I longed for most, and the elleth nodded quite understandably as I told her so.

 

In her I had found something of a confidante. She was older than most who dwelt within the neat stone houses and offered the kind of brusque advice and unflinching honesty that reminded me again, in large part, of Elrond. She laughed when I told these things to her, and told me I needed _more wine_ , which incidentally was just what Elrond would have said.

 

It was a bittersweet thing, the memory of Elrond. He was further away from me than ever before and I could not help but wonder if I’d have been in the mess I was if fate had seen fit to keep us side by side. Something told me that I would, and I was inclined to agree.

 

‘Watch your scone, dear, the goats are nosey today.’ said the elleth and I did not understand her meaning until I looked down and saw one of the small goats the folk kept in tended fields sniffing eagerly at the scone held absently in my hands. I broke a bit of and threw it to the poor thing, _a picnic in a goat field_ , thought I to myself as I watched it gobble up the crumbs, _whoever heard of such an idea!_

 

‘Perhaps it’s better not to drift off when such hungry beasts lurk nearby,’ I mused aloud and the elleth chuckled, tossing a piece of her own scone to the goat who, I was sure, would continue to linger by us in the hopes of more airborne teatime treats.

 

He would have to remain unsatisfied, however, and had only just finished nibbling amongst the grass for any last errant crumbs when he was startled at the elleth’s sudden call. His ears pricked up as mine might have done if I were a goat.

 

_That was a very strange thought, Erestor_.

 

‘Glorfindel!’ she chimed, beckoning. She needn’t have, he looked to have been seeking us out anyway and wore a smile that put a flutter in my heart. ‘Glorfindel, come, share a moment with us.’

 

‘I will indeed!’ he replied, jogging the last few metres before setting himself down heavily at my side. He put his hand on my knee and gave me a very meaningful look that I met for as long as I dared before glancing quickly at the aged elleth. She nodded once, an instruction beyond words that made me wonder just how much she knew... ‘I must have a word with Erestor, and steal him from your company for a minute.’

 

‘More than a minute, I’m sure.’ said the elleth, smiling with a raised brow.

 

_More than a minute, I hope_ , thought I.

 

‘But at any rate,’ the matron said, rising to her feet with grace that was the blessing of the females of the village. ‘I will leave you to your words and give you the privacy your union merits, but mind you don’t let these goats sneak up on you.’

 

She gave me a look, a very pointed look, of intent I could not discern; it seemed encouraging somehow, as though she willed me speak my mind or attempt to unburden my soul out here in the goat field. I wished she wouldn’t go; a dread came upon me that was utterly wrong -- what if indeed Glorfindel had come for serious conversation?

 

I was not ready, not yet, no...

 

‘Erestor,’ he said, softly, turning my face to his with a light finger under my chin. The elleth was a figure in billowing ribbons of purple, stark against the grey backdrop of clouds that now seemed to press down upon me. My breathing became shallow and ever so slightly laboured, _I am not ready,_ I told myself, over and over. ‘Erestor, is everything alright? What sudden fright grips you?’

 

It was the fear of truth, of admitting and telling the truth. I might have laughed at the monstrosity of it but no, I shook my head and forced down the broiling fear. ‘Worry not,’ said I, not even convincing myself. ‘What words did you come to break and what of their heaviness?’

 

‘Let them be light and happily received, I beseech the Valar.’ Glorfindel said with a smile and pressed a kiss to the corner of my eye, then another. Our cheeks brushed and for a moment there was bliss that outweighed the twinge of apprehension at his words and their portent, for a moment I surrendered to him and forget all else that was not his touch.

 

When he pulled away to better look me in the eye, I sighed and much might have been conveyed in the sound that I was certain did not go unheard. Glorfindel took my hand between both of his and I was reminded of the day in Imladris, seated amidst the blossom trees with the roaring falls at our back and the songbirds overhead. The scene did not seem _real_ as I recalled it, it seemed more dream than memory -- the day we had spoken of our desire to be joined and bound by vow and body...

 

Today’s conversation would not bring such joy, I was certain. Glorfindel blinked slowly, golden eyelashes lidding eyes that watched me and my reactions keenly.

 

‘Erestor, what say you to a little sojourn? Myself and a handful of others plan to ride out to the brook between the hills. It’s fine land and even finer company and I’d have you at my side to see it with.’

 

Hope, freshly born, faded quickly to bitter ash. As much as I knew I should say _aye_ and grit my teeth, I found myself shaking my head.

 

‘A kind offer for them to include me in, but one I must decline.’ I lowered my eyes. Glorfindel gave my hands a squeeze but I still would not lift them to his lest both our hearts crack and fracture.

 

‘You must? Erestor, I miss your company, recently,’ he said, quietly, earnestly.

 

_Say ‘yes’ you fool, swallow your pride and say ‘yes’!_

 

‘As I have missed yours, love, as I have missed yours.’

 

‘Then come with me! Let’s not suffer apart a moment longer, your loneliness and mine need not last beyond tonight,’ he kissed me, sweetly, just a chaste brush. Truth was on his lips, sweetness too and just a hint of butter and scones. ‘Ecthelion will be there, also.’

 

_Would he really_.

 

I was irked. Glorfindel might have noticed the rigidity in my stance then, he moved away to view my face, my posture in full and rubbed his thumbs over the back of my hands. I worked hard to keep my voice neutral and even more so to keep the words _civilised_.

 

‘Then you must ride with him, he can be your company for the evening, can he not?’

 

‘I’d have you, too, Erestor. He asks of you often and begins to wonder why we never, the three of us, spend any time together besides when we happen to come together for breakfast. We live in his house, partake of his food and drink and now dwell within his village! If you must, consider it nothing more than courtesy but please, reconsider.’

 

_Courtesy?_ The word struck me like a blow and I knew I must escape the conversation quickly lest I deal Glorfindel some barb of venom or bare my teeth unkindly. But I would not ride out with him and Ecthelion, I would not, I was absolutely certain, and pure Noldorin stubbornness had gripped me in its bejewelled, iron gauntlet and there was a grip that did not yield, as history would have you know only too well.

 

‘I will retire to the house in due time, Glorfindel, and I will not ask that you come with me just as I wish you will not force this decision upon me, now.’ I said, rather clinically. His eyes widened with a horror profound and innocent, he held my hands tighter still and shook his head.

 

‘Force you? No, I’d never! But Erestor, you must see this from another angle, from Ecthelion’s angle, perhaps. I understand what eats away at you, love, and you think I cannot feel it? Well, I do.’ he spoke strongly and kissed my cheek, a sharp peck, when I turned my face to avoid his words and gaze. ‘But it will only worsen if you cannot put it aside, let me help you tonight. Cast away your jealou-’

 

‘ _Glorfindel_ ,’

 

He stopped, silenced by the quiet menace in my voice I had not meant to project so strongly. He swallowed his words and I avoided his glance, still, fearing my own tempestuousness. Ah, you understand now what the catalyst of this disaster was but perhaps you have long since figured it out! Jealousy, envy; those most base and grotesque emotions that fell even the greatest of elves -- and I was not a _great_ elf. I had nurtured my envy well and it consumed me, gradually, like ivy over the face of a cobbled house.

 

I’d hurt him, snapped at him as though he were a foolish elfling meddling in grander affairs than were his to meddle in, but he was my husband offering my his hand to drag me to salvation and joy, and I had pushed it and him away. Harshly, too harshly.

 

Glorfindel regarded me with caution usually reserved for dealing with cornered snakes and again pride became my downfall and the dagger in my hands. Still and silent I became and did not seek to soothe him or allay the quaking of his hands. His heart’s blood may as well have been spilling through my fingers, staining the patchwork blanket we sat on.

 

‘You really do not wish to come?’ Glorfindel asked, sorrowful and beautiful; my golden flower searched ever for the sun, but whenever has such a name suited me?

 

I shook my head, though it was wrong.

 

‘Do you want me to leave you now?’

 

I nodded before pausing to think over what had been asked of me. And then he did leave, he let go my hand so that it fell heavily in my lap and clambered to his feet where he looked skywards for a moment, as if pausing to make some final statement. But he did not, and I was both glad and saddened by it.

 

He walked away and the wind stirred not his golden locks nor the long, flowing jacket he wore against the briskness of the afternoon, and much like the elder elleth he walked away into grey gloom and left me alone with an empty plate and nothing but the crumbs of what once had been sweet.

 

***

 

Glorfindel had not returned to our bed that night.

 

Through strength of will I kept myself awake long enough to watch the shadows of the tree branches outside the window creep over the ceiling, inch by inch in their dark pursuit. _He is not coming, I asked him to leave me and now he has_. That night I slept long and without dreaming. It was a single blessing in what was otherwise a very, very dark night.

 

I recall the following morning more fondly, thank goodness, awaking to see a familiar shape in bed with me and a familiar mass of golden tangles spread across the pillow in a resplendent fan. But the smile on my lips had died quickly, those precious few moments where events of the night previous are unremembered were abruptly ended and I felt and saw it all anew. Guilt and horror rendered me moveless, always, always it was guilt and horror. I lay my head back down on my own pillow whereas on a different day I might have woken Glorfindel with a rousing touch or kiss (or both), and allowed myself be consumed with visions of that goat field with the looming clouds and things I ought not to have done. How ridiculous that I lost my own mental autonomy, still, I worried it would happen again. Inevitability hounded me. Would today be different than yesterday?

 

_It could be, if you make the effort to shape it so_.

 

My stipulations were promptly interrupted and I lay quite still as I heard Glorfindel stir abnormally early for saying it was a Sunday after a rather _vibrant_ Saturday, especially if the sounds that had drifted in through the window the night before were any clue. He groaned, stretched and rubbed his eyes; his usual morning ritual of huffs and puffs and accidental limbs knocking into my softer body parts. Today, however, he was very careful not to do so.

 

There was something between us besides the duvet and blankets and he felt it too and just as keenly; that became starkly apparent. Neither of us knew what to do, for our relationship had been built and sustained on absolute trust, fierce co-dependence and loyalty; separation would be the death of it -- but how might one combat _death?_

 

‘Weighty thoughts for so early in the morning,’ Glorfindel said, voice thick with sleep and apprehension. He flashed me a smile that allayed a minute quantity of my fears. I smiled back but it all felt staged somehow; an act.

 

‘Tune them out then, love, and listen to the birdsong. Valinor sings a sweeter chorus than I in these early hours, it seems.’

 

He laughed and I kept my smile, but we both turned away from one another. I pressed my face into my pillow lest I betray myself to him with errant tears or some such; it had all changed in one night, and truly, nothing was ever the same between us ever again. Did I tremble? I might have done for fear of losing one’s soul moves even the oldest and most steadfast bones to shivers. Loathing wracked me and I basked in it horribly, ignoring the call of sunshine begging to be let in behind our curtains. Glorfindel ignored it too, which was most odd.

 

Just what was he thinking? I dreaded to even wonder. It’d be guilt (it is always guilt), would it not? Misplaced guilt that there was a single thing he could do that might revert us to our marital bliss, guilt borne of some irrational fear that he had caused this... sundering.

 

And still I could not reach out to him neither mentally or physically. Grief was a lead weight in the pit of my stomach and grew denser and denser as the silence went on and allowed for too many ill thoughts. How much I hated myself then, completely, I cannot express, but know that it was sheer and black as bile.

 

Would you believe that I felt alone then? My husband lay inches away from me, the folk of New Gondolin welcomed me now warmly to their companies and even Ecthelion was astoundingly friendly towards me. I half wished he wasn’t. I half wished he sought discord between us so that my jealousy might be the least bit justified. Only he didn’t and it wasn’t, in fact the only occasion I ever heard Ecthelion speaking honestly and confidentially about me was when I chanced to overhear a whispered conversation in the kitchen, a few days prior.

 

I had had two or three cups in hand and was bringing them to be washed with the other teatime crockery, but I paused before pushing the door ajar at the sounds of hushed, severe dialogue just barely audible in its confidentiality. Curiosity, ever my great downfall (and a quality I would always feel rather hypocritical for reprimanding the twins for indulging), moved me to eavesdrop and hold the teacups quite firmly in my hands lest they _clink_ together and sound out my snooping.

 

Ecthelion asked why I never deigned to sit downstairs with him, why I never lingered after meal times and why I chose to walk alone when he had made offer to walk at my side down the garden paths. I remembered each occasion as he asked and the memories were cruel ice to the skin of my conscience, but Glorfindel plied the old excuse of _introversion_ on my behalf and my chest swelled with an everlasting affection for the old warrior.

 

But he had more questions, this Lord of waters and clarity. Ecthelion had asked if I were feeling quite alright, if I were longing too painfully for the shores of Endor or if I perchance did not enjoy his company? But as I have said, Glorfindel diverted the questions with clever answers and I could hear the airy smile in his voice. Ecthelion might even have believed him but I rather suspect he quit his line of questioning with a realisation that it was a hopeless chase; Glorfindel would be loyal to me, he would keep our infighting private.

 

And how dearly I loved him. He fought for me and Glorfindel is nothing if not a fighter, of course, but new battles were on the horizon of the like he had never yet faced; quieter, shorter skirmishes but just as bloody and vile as the ones from the days of yore. Glorfindel would fight whereas I would surrender, he’d fight even himself and I bled for him as I witnessed. Whenever we sat together, he and I, alone in the room sharing a bottle of some dark, red wine that swished _cynically_ around the glass, I would see him about to add Ecthelion’s name to our chitchat but stop himself short. His face would darken for but a moment and Ecthelion’s name would not fall from his lips.

 

I was glad of it, I am afraid to say. I did not particularly wish to hear Ecthelion’s name (each vowel stroked the agitation of the jealous beast within my breast) but Glorfindel had the right to speak it, of course he did! He may weave it into our talks as often as we did Elrond’s or Lindir’s or Arwen’s. Ecthelion was his best friend, his blood brother - what nonsense it was that he felt prohibited to talk of him.

 

_Because of you, because of his love for you._

What a terrible burden. Oh, yes, such is how I began to view it. _If Glorfindel were free of me, he would be free of sorrow_. _If Glorfindel were free of me, he would know freedom and righteousness, he would be free to find a whole soul that would love him purely and fiercely. If Glorfindel were free of me, he might find another who would go on those horse rides, those treks to the brook between the hills._

But then, what if such a soul already existed? It was a steep spiral of thoughts, each more slippery than the last and they flew thick and fast at my dozing countenance on the bed that morning. We lay back to back, heart from heart, and I wondered if _freeing_ Glorfindel was truly the most viable option now.

 

My thoughts must have been over-vivid. Glorfindel was roused from his torpor and had come close to nestle behind me as we had not lain in such a long time. He kissed the back of my neck, where there were thin, soft hairs that delighted in his touch.

 

‘You,’ he said, sleepily, earnestly. ‘Are my greatest love. There is no freedom without your heart bound with mine. There is no better life I might live than what we share, Erestor. Erestor...’

 

A tear rolled down my cheek -- I had almost believed him.


	10. Chapter 10

Some time ago in the library of Imladris, Glorfindel and I had sat together and he wove the stories of the festivals of Yule and Midsummer at Gondolin with lowered voice and gentle touch upon my palm. I listened, lost to his weaving, and might have wished palely that I could have bore witness to described events, but more ardent was my wish for _him_ and for the little time we had together in the relative secrecy of the library to stretch to an infinity.

 

How strange it was for me to suddenly have these half-hearted wishes realised! New Gondolin thrived on the same celebratory lifeblood as the old city of the Second Age, and of course, who else better knew how to cherish and proclaim joy than these folk? None, it would seem, if the sheer number of gathered elves was anything to go by. The village square was quite full of people, tables piled high with food and drink and large sections were kept clear for couples who wished to dance to the night’s song; insect wings and ballads of yore.

 

They were of full voice, all of them, and quite merry with wine that passed from hand to hand and lip to lip. I recall doing an awful lot of standing and watching rather than any actual party procedure and felt as though I were the only one the fire’s warmth did not reach; the night was cold, autumn fast approached and I felt the change that night upon my skin.

 

The ranks of the crowd swelled ever on and on. If it had not been for Glorfindel’s stalwart presence at my side I fear I would have gotten quite lost amidst them and vanish into their song and chatter and become a spectral ghost -- transparent. He remained nearby to reassure me and ask if I had finished the wine I was sipping or if I quite fancied food, dance or anything else at all. I shook my head each time he asked and bade him only stay with me a little longer so I might cling to reality. He smiled too, the way one who is just slightly inebriated smiles.

 

In my own sober state I felt the sundering between us even through our joined hands. Perhaps that was why Glorfindel accepted the offers of drinks that were alarmingly in abundance. The night might have ended more sweetly for us both had not glass upon glass been pushed into my husband’s hands, but his levity and kindliness would not have him refuse a single one. So I watched him grow more and more intoxicated until my words of caution fell on deaf ears and I ultimately ceased altogether. He never grew _rude_ or _bawdy_ , mind you, only bolder.

 

At the centre of the village square a grand fire burned, gathered around which were a handful of citizens come to rest from the dance or those who would rather forgo the activity altogether and more passively spend the evening in pleasant, sober company. I was a fool to think Glorfindel might desire to sit with me there when there was so much else to do, but still over we went and he tried to disengage himself from his own culture -- on my behalf! I looked heavenwards and remarked on the clouds, inky skybound tides, that were crossing the constellations and creating entirely new ones. Glorfindel looked up for a little while but his name was being called from the throng and the dimming of stars behind night-time clouds was not a priority for him.

 

He said my name; tentative. I kept my face pointed towards the skies but closed my eyes for a moment or two and imagined we were someplace else, in the library again perhaps, where this might just be another vivid retelling fallen from his lips. It was a base wish, a wish of a child but such was the honesty of it, I am afraid. The separation between us was given physical voice from the elves who called to him and when finally I did lower my eyes to his, his question was asked silently.

 

I nodded, once.

 

Glorfindel kissed my brow, my temple, and it was a lingering embrace that felt as an apology of sorts. To hold him to it would only embolden the voices, would only strengthen their claim upon him. I said his name and he listened when I bade him swallow his apologies, he nodded and I breathed the scent of him but it was marred with wine now.

 

I let him go. Glorfindel rose up and away from the fire until he was lost to a crowd I could not navigate.

 

Time passed strangely then. Have you ever heard the sound of ten dozen elves singing their jubilation when you yourself felt only your own melancholy? It was a strange thing I let wash over me and I became detached from the entire event though I was seated at the heart of it. The song I heard without properly listening and the individual timbres of the singers melded to one voice, indistinguishable and threatening somehow. The lyrics that rang in my ears were unknown; the voice did not sing of any victories that belonged to _me_.

 

I sat at the fireside with a few other souls who stared as vacantly into the flames or out at the surrounding countryside, and I might have done too had their faces not been lit so brilliantly by the blaze and wonderful to look at. Once or twice one would return a glance to me and we would share a soiled smile that was more a twitch of the lips than anything real. Once or twice I was even asked to dance by very, _very_ hopeful individuals, their courage was respectable (if utter folly, _elbereth_ , there is that word again) but to myself I kept and declined each offer with grace I hoped seemed sincere and impersonal.

 

The elder elleth, the same from previous episodes, was even out and about, revelling and swishing her skirts about to the minstrel song that floated down from a lofty squat hill beneath a white pavilion with silver tassels. Her breath was spent and shallow when she spied my silhouette and came to sit beside me. She smiled, melting the years from her countenance most beautifully in a way that reminded me of Celebrían. She asked what I was doing and my wordless gaping explained quite clearly enough. She raised a delicate brow and shook her head, ‘This will not do at all, Erestor.’

 

No, it wouldn’t. When I said so I looked beyond her; the mountains were greyed to black and far, far away. I wondered how dark the sea would be tonight and if the waves would lap blackly on the beaches, I wondered how dark the opposite shore would be and if there were any still living there who might care for such things. The elleth clicked her fingers inches from my face and I tore myself from grimness with a slight start. I heard the song again, the lilting of the elf-flute and the hollers and shouts of frolicking elves dancing with swift feet and high spirit and the sounds were all so very _real_ and present; time moved strangely, and strange things an immortal elf will feel when he loses his affiliation with time.

 

‘Shall we send you to Tirion so you can brood with the other old elves in dusty robes? You’re being ridiculous,’

 

‘That’s my word. You can’t use my own word against me.’

 

She laughed. She bowed her head and shook it.

 

‘It is forbidden to fret so deeply and constantly on the day of festival, my young one. Here, I would not have thought you would break our rules, Erestor, of all people!’ she could not hide the smirk on her face nor the once in her voice. _How much apple wine and good ale has passed her lips?_ A prudent question that was more prudently kept unasked.

 

‘Pay me no heed! I’d not sap your happiness from the celebrations, put me from your thoughts and dance, return to them and turn your mind from me.’

 

‘I could no sooner ignore you than I could ignore a splinter in the heel of my foot,’ here she laughed at the expression on my face. ‘And so says I with all fondness imaginable, of course!’

 

‘Indeed?’

 

‘Indeed.’ she said, copying my cadence with another wry smirk. Incredibly and despite the apple wine that I could _indeed_ smell on her breath, she become serious in the blink of an eye and demanded my attention. ‘The night is for you both, as one and as two. Glorfindel seeks only to rediscover a bit of his past self and connect with what _was_ and _has been_ , permit him that and find your own joy in our merry rabble, Gondolin, New Gondolin I should say, loves and frees all on nights like these!’

 

Yes, yes, she had quite aptly honed in on the source of my fretting but how could I rightly tell her that it was Glorfindel’s rediscovery of himself that set me to fears!? The night was perfectly indicative of Gondolin during her height and fame and so close to the tales Glorfindel had told me. He would find the past here as alive and renewed as he was himself, he would find the person he was who he had been in the company of the elves who’d come out to play, with a glass in each hand and a bright smile lighting his face.

 

The elder mercifully took my blatant gape of horror for contemplation. She gave my hands a squeeze and hopped to her feet more agilely than I was sure I’d ever manage again.

 

‘The dancing calls to you just as it does to him, forget _yourself_ tonight and come.’ she said, a parting pearl of wisdom that echoed about my head for a time as I watched her leave and melt into the crowd, like butter into a warm scone.

 

***

 

The night intensified around me as the hour grew so late it became early. Here dwelt elves much more thickblooded than the folk I had grown and lived with for the better part of my life and their tolerance for drink was impeccable if marginally alarming. My sensibilities were quite unneeded, as you might imagine, and I had long since resigned myself to the post of observer rather than participant. But something was bubbling my own blood that could not be attributed to drink.

 

I turned my head to try and catch a breeze on my cheek that might dissuade the sensation but there was only the warm lick of the bonfire that roused me sluggishly to my feet, lest it be allowed to blaze and ignite the spark that’d set me afire, also. What I planned to do once stood, I had no idea, and so meandered through the crowd for a time and smiled and nodded and clapped strangers on the back when they greeted me as brother and asked where I had been hiding for so long.

 

My excuses were satisfactory, the night was not for quarrelling or suspicions anyway. I took bold sips of the ale they passed me and swigged as easily as though it were water. My eyes stung to remind me of my own fragility, but I ignored the warnings of my body and drank steadily more. The ale burned as furiously as a liquid fire one may imbibe, and the elves who were removing their cloaks or overcoats suddenly seemed more rational to me.

 

I even danced over the carpet of well stitched garments cast to the ground with an elleth whose name I cannot remember, though I doubt she would remember mine, either. She laughed and was pliant and energetic in my arms and it took the bulk of my will to keep up in time with her. She named me something in Quenya that made me blink, but then she giggled and swept us away dancing once again. With a final spin and a shallow bow, I sent her on her way and she carolled my new Quenyan name as I walked, her voice lifted above the din of the music just barely until she too, like everyone else, fell into the crowd.

 

It became clear to me that I was searching for Glorfindel, ignoring how I might be deadweight at his side at worst and a mute shadow at best, but I felt I must see him to check his wellbeing and keep myself from losing all scruples. But the ale had sunk to my feet, apparently, and my steps were ill-placed so that I stumbled often and had to cling to arms of strangers I did not know to keep myself from falling. But their ire did not flare at being so wildly clawed at. Instead, the elves would chuckle and help me along; it was strange, strange indeed and my head swam horribly and warped their smiling faces. I moved on quickly, and if I seemed rude for not granting them my thanks or even a passing smile -- so be it, or such was my adopted attitude.

 

_An ill thing it is when a counsellor forgets his manners_ , thought I, and yet my endeavour to behave rather more responsibly lasted what, a handful of seconds at best? For there he was, waving at me and beckoning across the crowd with a request to join him. Ecthelion.

 

He’d know where Glorfindel was, surely, but I deemed myself not yet so desperate to find him that I’d rely upon the object of my envy to provide me with answers. I soundly ignored him despite having met his eyes. His waving stopped though his arm remained raised, was he shocked at the height of my pride? Snobbery better describes it, in truth, and no amount of Noldorin genes can excuse such an act.

 

I was too stubborn to regret it that night, though each elf I asked (and I asked no small number) of Glorfindel’s whereabouts told me they did not know or to _ask Ecthelion_. When I expressed distinctly irritable concern that no-one seemed to know where the Lord of the Golden Flower was, my query was flapped away with a wave of a hand and I was told not to worry for he was a _grown boy_. I might have scoffed and turned on my heel, spurred by laughter ringing about my ears and folksongs grown tiresome and loud.

 

Nobody in Imladris would dared have tell me _not to worry_! How absurd, but then I was not chief counsellor in this village, was I? They did not know of the power I once held, they did not know who I was (can you taste the arrogance in these thoughts of mine?). Oh yes, I missed my old authority then and longed for the ability to command a handful of willing elves to hunt down my wayward lover, but I was a simple guest in the home of one mightier than I and each negative answer I received reinforced this quite clearly.

 

Each thread of that life I had forged out for myself, with sword and quill and sharpened wit, was unravelling faster than I could sew patches. I gave up too easily and succumbed to the inevitability of another night where Glorfindel and I would sleep apart. If I had been meant to find him -- I would have, or so I believed. And yet as soon as I retraced my steps to the central bonfire and perched myself on the same seat I had occupied not an hour ago, I saw him!

 

I couldn’t move myself to my feet again though I jolted at the sight of him. I observed rather than participated and felt so very tired that I feared I’d fall even if I did try and reach him. I would fall and be lost under the feet of the crowd that stamped and jumped and beat out the rhythm of the anthems upon the earth.

 

Glorfindel did not look tired, no, quite the opposite. He shone with a light I had not seen in too long a time and beamed at the gathering about him, elleth and ellon looking to his face as though he were the prophet Eonwë himself, come with holy word to spread amongst them. _What indeed would he be talking of_ , I thought. He spun an elleth under his arm, a lazy sort of dance in which he could keep conversation with the others and still delight his partner. My throat was dry and I wished I had the passion left to turn my head and burn with ire, but I was weak and watched and burned with something all consuming and pitiful; a wasting disease of the consciousness.

 

Not even when Ecthelion draped his arm about Glorfindel’s shoulders did I turn away. He whispered something into my husband’s ear and Glorfindel laughed, freely, beautifully, and Ecthelion joined his own mirth to it; all was right in the world then, as the Lords of Fountain and Flower were matched in glee as always it should have been. Bitterness swamped me, that I, the one bound with him, could move him to nothing beyond apologies. It did not occur to me that if I had swallowed my impudence when Ecthelion had called to me that I might be sharing in whatever joke had stirred them to such laughter.

 

What did occur to me was that I could, if I truly applied myself, rise and go over to them. _You could, you could, but would he want you there? His raven husband come with rainclouds and doom?_ I raked my hair back and tried closing my eyes and lifting my face, as I had done before, but the firelight burned through my eyelids and bade me face the present, but I did not want to! There was no sanctuary in the sky, no peace in the night and I felt suddenly ill.

 

I faced the fire, stared at it as if locked in a virulent glare with one particularly nasty elf. _If there is nowhere else to look besides the fire, then into the fire I will look and perchance see the ruin of my life burn to cinders_.

 

Glorfindel laughed, I heard it, I heard his voice but not his words. He had found himself and his joy, just as I had predicted, and a fool he would be if he did not stay there now, with those who might care for him, purely.

 

Even as I thought so, something within me that might have been my heart screamed _no!_ No, nobody would, or will, ever love that elf as much as I, as fiercely or wholly as I. But they may love him more kindly, more gently, more patiently...

 

And I wanted to reach into the fire and seize those life-cinders to see how easily they might break to ash between my fingers, how black they might stain my hands. _Consumed_ , thought I, _it is all gone now, all of it._

If again I wept for anger or pure sad sorrow, none could say, for the fire burned the tears from my face.


	11. Chapter 11

The clock ticked down, one second at a time, and if the night of the festival (now an uncomfortable memory from days passed but a memory all the same) had seen me become detached from the flow of time, well, the day I went apple picking with the kindly women saw me become wickedly attuned to it. I pulled the fruit from the branches and tested their firmness in my hands; an oddly cathartic experience with the promise of drink and dessert at the end of it to boot.

 

Time, my new friend, was counting down to something grand and terrible, a crescendo of sorts and I could feel it in all my being. I would create something awful, horrific, and it was hard to concentrate on picking the greenest and shiniest applies from the orchards when possessed of this grim foresight of the destruction one was about to bring. I could feel the barbed words forming in my gut already and found myself rehearsing the dire speech as we walked, baskets on our arms, along the lines and rows of rosy apple trees.

 

The elder elleth, recovered at last from her festival shenanigans, walked beside me and remarked how much _better_ I seemed in and of myself. I nodded and accepted her compliment finely, with a calmness and sincerity I knew to be false and yet... it manifested so naturally. I shivered when she looked briefly away but restored myself to absolute composure when she began to tell me of her husband.

 

It was a tale I had never heard before and the longing in her voice as she told me of how he was away with a small group of other Gondolindrim seized my heart. I asked when he would be back and she told me _soon_ , and grinned when I linked my arm with hers. She was a wise old thing who offered me a friendship I utterly did not deserve, but I will admit my selfishness and say I am glad, even so, for otherwise and without it I would long have been lost to madness.

 

Our apple picking efforts rather faltered then and we became swept up in conversation. The ticking and tocking was ever present in the back of my head, yes, but I was gripped, as I have mentioned, in the fist of icy coolness. It was inevitable, this thing that was to happen, and the finality of the word and its meaning was reassuring in the bleakest possible way; it meant there was no return from here.

 

There was a comfort in that, somehow, and in how the elleth kept me distracted from thinking too deeply with her tales.

 

Of Tuor and Idril she told me the most wonderfully romantic stories, I bent occasionally to pick up the ripe, unbruised fruits from the leafy ground but listened contently. Of Eärendil she spoke too, and not the stories of legend and fate that cover the pages of history books but instead the anecdotes of his younger years spent toddling after his father’s shadow or into his mother’s wide embrace. The stories were delightful and sated the scholar in me along with the humble servant of the bloodline I was and ever am, and in turn I told her of similar tales of the twins and she laughed at how similar and daft they three were. When I heard of how Eärendil had gotten himself stuck in the helm of his father I could not mask my amusement and the elder looked at me strangely until I explained how Elladan had done much the same thing -- twice. Some things were passed along through the family no matter the generation, it would seem, and we laughed together.

 

She asked of Arwen delicately and linked our arms tighter seeing my face cloud for a moment. I would not speak of her future or ultimate fate, such topics were still too tender to give voice to, but I spoke of Arwen come to bloom and become our beautiful Evenstar of unmatched radiance, of how she rolled up her sleeves to catch frogs and fish in the river with her brothers, how she might scale the trees in her mother’s garden and throw pebbles at my window and greet me from the very top branch with an energetic wave, how we had danced at the celebration of her wedding and said our farewells. The elder listened, stroking delicate fingers over a small, unripe apple and meeting my eyes always.

 

‘You loved her,’ she said. The sun cast patterns through the leaves on the tree branches and we walked a speckled path of yellow and green.

 

‘As a child of my own, as you must have loved Eärendil.’

 

‘True, I did, very much so.’

 

So went our conversation for a time, spinning the threads of the past, she indulging my penchant for recalling the ember days of Imladrian splendour and I listening eagerly to her tales of her husband, and so proud was she of him. He and the others from New Gondolin had sojourned to the forest kingdom to visit newly landed kin and kith and the elleth laughed to see the grimace on my face when she told me there’d more than likely be a festival for their homecoming.

 

‘Ah, do I spy our boys in the distance there?’ she said, looking past me and shielding her eyes from the sun with a long hand. I looked too and indeed it seemed as though the riding party had stopped for a spot of lunch upon one of the orchard hills; there were a number of horses and elves kitted out for a run along the fields and over the low hedgerows. I wished they hadn’t come to pause here, I wished I did not see Glorfindel and Ecthelion dismounting together maintaining rapturous conversation. But you should know I was past most basic envy then, as impossible as it might seem to you, the bonfire had burned the last of it; I hurt and felt only cold regret, as though our doom had already come to pass. ‘Shall we walk up to them?’

 

‘No,’ said I. ‘No, we shall let them have their afternoon picnic in peace.’

 

The elder looked at me, she raised a brow and only raised it further when I smiled to try and allay her suspicions. There was no need, she read me as an open book and I had not the strength to mask it from her -- oh, how she reminded me of Elrond in those moments, and I shuddered to think what Elrond might think if he could see me now.

 

‘Fairly spoken, Erestor,’

 

We should have walked on along the path littered with fallen fruit and brave little jackdaws pecking at the overripe fallings, but as it was we lingered overlong. Ecthelion and Glorfindel were but barely distinguishable shapes cresting the hill, but defined enough that we might discern their actions. The Fountain Lord pulled my husband into a hug, a warm and fierce thing that lasted plenty long enough and went on beyond any normal affectionate count. My throat dried; was it an embrace on consolation or of promise? I swallowed futilely and watched, devoid of hope at either thought being true, and the elder - I felt her watching it too, by my side, neither of us daring break the fragile silence that rested like thin glass above our heads.

 

_It’s all ending, isn’t it?_

I wondered if he’d catch that thought, or if his mind would be too clouded with... other things for it to even register.

 

_Where are we?_

 

‘Come,’ she said, tugging my arm a little. ‘Let’s turn in our bounties and see about fetching you some of the tart or, even better, some of the ale.’

 

It was a sound idea. I would drink and eat and muse over what was to happen, for this was it, I was quite sure. It was to be the end of all, one way or the other and I could not stop myself though my soul cried not to be sundered, not to be broken apart!

 

_This is it. It happens tonight._


	12. Chapter 12

_Let’s talk_.

 

Two words that had drained the colour from Glorfindel’s face and he regarded me fearfully, sat on the edge of the pretty settee in Ecthelion’s living room with hands clasped to one another. The chill still held me dreadfully calm even as we approached our final precipice. I held my head high and met Glorfindel’s eyes -- I owed him that small courtesy, at least. He was stood up on the other side of the room near the mirror and his reflection seemed grant him a golden halo.

 

And he did not look angry, no, only confused and full of dread. Could he not guess at what I might say next? I rather thought he could, I rather thought in that moment he realised the magnitude of my condition. But it was too late for both of us now. I inhaled deeply through my nose to wake myself and conjure up some final courage.

 

I ignored the pleas in my own head. _Try, try again and make it work! Do not give up so easily, you can make the effort!_

Once again, I ignored my own sound advice. No. No, I was quite resolute. And with six words I dealt as cruel a blow as has ever been struck.

 

‘I think I need to leave.’

 

Glorfindel blinked, gaped, half-laughed. He would not believe it then, ah, I had always known he would not make this easy. And what a selfish thought!

 

‘Why?’ he asked, barely.

 

‘I don’t feel at home here,’ said I, quite simply but it did not satisfy. Glorfindel’s expression shifted from horrified to knowingly exasperated. He frowned a little but his eyes still blazed with fear.

 

‘Erestor, no -- tell me the truth.’

 

It was my turn to gape a little but if he was asking for the truth, well, who was I to deny him? It would all need to come out in the end. The living room was silent before I spoke; it was evening time, just rolling into a clear night and Ecthelion was out, thankfully. It was quiet and still but I shattered it with venom untempered and unfairly spouted.

 

‘But that is the truth, I feel alone and quite separate. I need to go.’

 

‘Alone? Separate? From what exactly? From me, is that it? Erestor, I don’t...’ his words trailed off and he shook his head, looking from furniture to window and then back to my face. What answers could I provide him when I myself possessed them not? I shrugged, he made a noise of despair. I could not fault him for his disbelief, I could barely believe it myself.

 

He pushed his hair back and for saying we were separated only by a few metres of cushy tables and armchairs, I felt never more distant from him; he who once held me so often and freely in arms I had promised never to leave. Cherished memories barely seemed _real_ at all, and glad I was for the adrenaline of the moment nourishing me so I might not collapse under the terrible weight of sadness.

 

Our love had been so beautiful, once.

 

‘You will live well and properly here, in New Gondolin, but the village could never be a home for me as it can, and will be, for you. You have your family here, and you have Ecthelion, of course.’

 

Glorfindel looked at me suddenly, dropping his hands to his sides and half-smiling again; pure disbelief, rejection of reality. Would he fight for us as I had not the courage to do? Ah, but what was left? I was but a husk of the elf he had chosen to bind with and I saw our separation as a kindness to him, you see? I believed I might _put him out of his misery_ , or so that miserable saying goes.

 

‘Is that what this is about? Again? Erestor, please-’

 

‘I cannot,’ I interrupted him as he crossed the room to me, moving with purpose in his stride that conjured a last shuddering hope in my chest. _Save me_.

 

‘You must, _must_ , put this all out of your head!’ he urged, kneeling at my side before the settee. ‘There is nothing between he and I, and you must surely see this!’

 

‘I have seen something, Glorfindel, I’ve seen it a fair few times since we arrived. Most recently upon the hilltop near the orchard, do you recall?’ Clearly he did not, he looked at me; bemused. ‘He is the other part of you, is he not?’

 

Glorfindel did not answer. But then of course he could not! For the question had stunned him in its preposterousness, and more’s the pity as I took his perfect silence as a blatant _yes_. You think me ridiculous! And I was, I was, but I was quite addled with the bitterness I had been churning and nurturing for so long that rationality was utterly bypassed. I thought what I wanted, heard what I wanted and saw what I wanted. Glorfindel stood no chance against my pride.

 

I rose to my feet, feeling quite ill again.

 

‘I need to go.’

 

Glorfindel caught my hand, he stood too and would not let go. It was a plea of his, the first of many that would rend my heart.

 

‘Erestor, you need to stop this. You need to listen to me and listen to what I have been trying to tell you for the past age! Erestor,’ I slipped my hand out of his as he spoke and turned my back to him, pottering around the living room as though we were having a simple conversation about what to make for supper that night.

 

In fact, I was gathering my belongings that were already packed. Glorfindel beseeched me _listen_ as I went, checking zips and contents and ticking off a mental checklist despite knowing I had prepared immaculately. All that he said made sense, perfect sense, but sense was not compatible with me at that moment. It was too late, I was mad - there is truly no other word for it. I did not listen.

 

There was a sliver of moon rising outside the frosted window. I looked to it as Glorfindel paused his tirade, stopping just long enough to see the quantity of luggage I had secreted away behind one of the armchairs. A full suitcase, all that I had brought with me upon arrival to New Gondolin, to be precise.

 

There would be nothing left of me in the village.

 

‘How long are you planning to go for?’

 

I turned to him, just a little. A glance over my shoulder.

 

‘For as long as I need, I know not precisely.’

 

‘You’re leaving me,’ he said, flatly. ‘Erestor, you’re leaving me.’

 

_Yes._ I turned back to the window, to the crescent moon gathering the night about it. There was not a cloud in sight.

 

‘It is not the same anymore between us, is it? We left one another long ago, Glorfindel.’

 

‘No! No, but we... Erestor, please, I don’t understand!’

 

_Neither do I, my love, neither do I._ He approached me at the window, tentatively as one might approached a fanged beast but I let him come close and lay hands on me. A brush of his fingers against my cheek, his hands were warm where my skin was cold and his touch awoke _feeling_ in me. The spell broke for a moment, he whispered his love into my ear. I dropped the luggage. I closed my eyes.

 

The kiss we shared then, I will never forget. Glorfindel has ever been a creature of gentility and even on that night where we both hovered on the brink of explosion, he brushed our lips together sweetly at first, cupping my face with a warm hand.

 

And when he knew I responded, he worked fire into the embrace and kissed me hard to save our joined life. He pulled me to him until I erred in my solidarity and stroked my hands up his chest and lay them there upon and over his heart, he caught my breath when he bit my lip; another plea, and easily I let him tease my lips apart.

 

I moaned, a shuddering expression of pleasure long sought.

 

He might have had me, I might have given myself to him completely then had not the spell (or the curse) of calm and cold cruelness claimed me first. I pulled away cruelly and quickly.

 

‘I have to go,’

 

‘You don’t, no you don’t.’

 

‘It’s not the same,’ said I and it was true enough. As I walked away he was left standing dumbfounded, blinking after me as I covered my mouth with a hand that shook, trying my best to trap the taste of him and his sweetness but it was a futile attempt.

 

‘And so... So you’ll just leave without proper explanation?’

 

‘You know full well what drives me to leave, Glorfindel.’

 

He shook his head and looked at me wildly, taking a step closer that I mirrored by taking an equal one backwards. The house was still, there was no wind to howl with us nor to move the gossamer curtains off their hooks. We would create our own tempest, ah, such was our passion!

 

‘No! I do not! All I know is what I feel since you neglect to talk to me! And what I feel each day is less and less than the previous one! This... jealousy cannot be the thing that moves you to run from me! Erestor, Erestor we can fix this if you only allow me to be your husband!’

 

‘As I have allowed you, as I have _willed you_ to be on the nights where you deign to sleep elsewhere? This is beyond conversation, Glorfindel, I must go.’ I scoffed, unkindly and seized the handles of my luggage.

 

‘Mayhap in your mind it is clear and painfully obvious but will you not share with me what hurts you harbour alone? Erestor, I feel as though you wish too eagerly to leave out of the door without even allowing me to help!’

 

His desperation should have softened me and I should have harkened to his requests! No doubt you see the logic in them, of course, and he spoke truly enough. But to speak of my _hurts_ would be to admit to the grotesque state of my being and I was not strong enough, not yet, to do so. What I was doing that night was running away.

 

Just as I had run on the Mithlond dock, ah, my cowardice was a grand, spanning thing. I met his eyes, though it had become suddenly much harder.

 

‘Let me leave, and I may yet return.’

 

‘May? You may return?’ Glorfindel laughed, a desperate sound, and raked back his hair and chanced a glance heavenwards out of the window. ‘My husband threatens to leave _indefinitely_ and will not tell me why or even if he ever plans to come back to me!’

 

‘There is no other way!’

 

‘But there is! There are a thousand other ways only you will not even so much as consider them! Erestor, I care not how dark the inside of your mind might be, I’d rather see it and heal it than you run from me without word or parting kindness!’

 

My composure began to shatter, piece by piece, quicker and quicker the longer I remained under that roof. I bade myself reel in my anger, for it was unwarranted and Glorfindel had to right of it, but stronger was my urge to flee from the house and from the village and I knew I would trample over his kind heart if it meant I might run free!

 

‘How easily you speak this now! Where were these kind offers on the nights where I wept for us?! Let me leave, Glorfindel, and worry not - in the morning you may fall to Ecthelion as ever you do and I will seem of little consequence.’

 

‘You must stay and restrain yourself, Erestor, you speak without thinking and I fear in the morning you will regret such words.’ Glorfindel’s voice was low and dangerous and served only to ignite a bitter, mocking ire long repressed somewhere in my roiling, turbulent body. I laughed, scathingly.

 

‘Tomorrow morning I will be upon the road. You must let me go, or else we will ruin everything tonight, don’t you see? Glorfindel, I must leave if we are to ever survive as one.’

 

I made to pull my bag towards the hallway door, Glorfindel stopped me.

 

‘No, Erestor I still do not understand!’

 

‘Neither do I!’ I cried, quite wildly and Glorfindel flinched. ‘Neither do I, and I _must_ go that I might _understand_! Do you not see the very state of me? Do you not see how my hands shake and hear the poison in my voice? Let me through.’

 

‘If that is true then you must think me mad if you believe I’d let you travel in such condition! Stay, stay with me the night and the morning will be brighter for us both or else wait until we can... arrange an escort wherever you might be headed.’ he choked the words as though they had gotten wedged in his throat and he gripped me by the elbow, begging me with vivid eyes.

 

Even without firelight, even without _joy_ he was a vision to steal the breath. I bowed my head in a moment of weakness and he pressed a kiss to my dark crown, whispering my name as if he wished me to suddenly remember myself and the elf I had been not months ago.

 

I wished that, too.

 

‘I must go, and I must be alone.’

 

‘No,’

 

‘Glorfindel,’

 

‘No! I cannot let you!’

 

‘Why?’ I snapped, I shouted. ‘Why will you not release me to find my salvation alone? I cannot heal in this place, Glorfindel, surrounded by these people and their smiles and levity and _festivals_! I have become detached from... near everything, can you not understand?! This village is bleeding me dry and I will not stay to hurt myself or you any longer. Let me go!’

 

‘Do not blame Gondolin for your own incredulities!’

 

‘Incredulities,’ I echoed, testing the word. I narrowed my eyes, Glorfindel let go my elbow and drew himself up to full height. We might have been two wild things snarling at one another.

 

‘What? Is that not what they are? Hallucinations, false suspicions?’

 

‘You understand nothing,’ I sneered.

 

‘No! No, I don’t! Because _you will not talk to me!_ ’

 

‘How on earth am I meant to talk to you when I cannot remove you from Ecthelion’s side long enough to even greet you never mind _talk_ with you?’

 

‘You must stay, we must talk of this and we can start tonight, whilst I am not attached to Ecthelion’s side, as it were.’

 

I huffed and made some noise of indignation and tried my best to force my way past, but you can imagine how fruitless my attempts at barging past the balrog-slayer were, naturally. My heart thumped in my chest and how alive and horrible I felt!

 

‘No. If I return, then we may talk. I will _not_ talk to you in this state.’ I tried to squeeze past him, but once again he caught my elbow.

 

‘Erestor,’

 

‘Glorfindel!’ I shouted back, mockingly. He tightened his grip, not to hurt me, no, but rather to try and quash the temper that no doubt burned behind my eyes. But being restrained has only ever inflamed my oncoming tantrums and I grasped for the nearest object that was not _him_ or the bag of luggage in my left hand, and so I found I was holding aloft a glittering glass vase.

 

Time, my old friend, slowed then as things reached their end and I recall the following events in perfect, dreadful clarity. The room was still; save only for us, two blazing, stubborn fools barking circles around one another. Glorfindel tried to stare me down, he bade me, in a low voice, put the vase back down on the wooden side-table and then sit myself down. I told him, most churlishly, that I was not going to be ordered around like a impudent _child_ , and the glass vase shattered to crystalline rain about our feet as I lobbed it at the carpet.

 

In the split second Glorfindel jumped back from the flying shards, I saw my chance and stormed past and towards the hall door with no other priority in sight. I cared not for the cuts and scrapes that ached and made themselves known about my feet and legs, I cared not for Glorfindel’s sudden cry of _No!_

 

The door swung open at my touch and just as I went to close it, time reverted to natural speed and Glorfindel thrust himself at it, not allowing me to slam the damn thing closed and exit in most dramatic fashion.

 

‘Erestor, Erestor, please you cannot leave me!’

 

Something in his voice stripped me of my anger and left me cold. Cold and determined to follow this dire path to the very end, I closed my eyes as he spoke; his plea, the sob in his voice could not break me now. I was a committed monster.

 

‘I have to!’ I called back, ‘I have to and in the morning you will realise and your sorrow will be lesser! You will not miss me.’

 

Glorfindel cried out that he would.

 

My heart broke. But I had made it too hard and cruel, and so I walked on and on through the hall. I did not weep and forced myself think only of how I was about to step out into that still night and be received by the long road. I was getting what I wanted, was I not?

 

I walked away from him, from Glorfindel my poor husband, and I did not weep even as I heard his body slump against the door.


	13. Chapter 13

I fell into Celebrían’s arms as soon as she opened her front door to me.

 

I fell to pieces and she caught and cradled me, shooshing and soothing me and masked, as best she could, her sudden panic at having a grown elf weep upon her shoulder.

 

On her doorstep we stayed for a time, it was a fair autumn afternoon and quite fair weather -- even for crying. Celebrían slowly guessed the nature of my upset, I am sure, and I realised my mistake! For the duration of the slow journey up to their little cottage besides the river I had kept myself focused on nothing besides my ultimate destination or the placement of one foot in front of the other. I refused to think of Glorfindel in any capacity, especially rejecting the memory of our final night together. I cursed myself once, twice and thrice as she held me and rocked me, the gift of a mother, and knew that without Glorfindel I was not _Erestor_.

 

I was not myself, it was simple. I realised it only then when I was so very far away from him in more than just miles and yards. Celebrían called for Elrond and after expressing his initial shock he brought me into their house, again, where the curtains were open and the flowers seemed to twinkled into the open windows from their painted window boxes.

 

The wind chime that I had bought them for an anniversary a long time ago was tinkling somewhere and the gentle music of it soothed my frayed nerves somehow. It was a familiar sound that reminded me of _home_ , wherever that was.

 

_He is in New Gondolin and hurting for you._

 

The thought was the first rational one I had had in a long time.

 

Elrond and Celebrían swapped many furtive looks between themselves, but let me sit with a hot cup of tea and listen to the birdsong for a while before wresting my story from me. I told them much in the same way I have told you; candidly and with a great amount of shame. They listened but I could not meet their eyes, not even Celebrían who listened intently and with sorrow mingled with sweet confusion. Elrond was plainly agitated, and I feared his reprisal though I could not deny I had earned it.

 

They both asked me why I could not have stayed with Glorfindel, why I had felt the need to walk out on him and I had no answer for them just as I had had none for him, but they already knew. I saw it in one of their exchanged glances; they knew better than I myself, most likely! But I had not the heart to ask them or engage in more weighty conversation, I brought the tea to my lips and tuned in to the wind chime. Celebrían stroked my back and whispered something to her husband, and my spirits were flattened so that I did not even eavesdrop!

 

‘Erestor, you may stay with us for as long as you need,’ Elrond said, and I looked to him with weary eyes.

 

‘May I?’

 

‘Of course you may, old friend,’ he said, as though it were a most obvious thing. However, then he cupped my chin in his hand and we looked at one another quite intently. I rather got the impression I was being examined but one gets used to such sensations being Elrond’s good friend and advisor. ‘But, I am going to write to New Gondolin immediately. The letter will be for Glorfindel and Glorfindel only, do you understand? I am calling him here.’

 

I didn’t really understand but I nodded anyway to save myself more lectures. The idea of Glorfindel being summoned so soon set a new dread in my stomach, I did not believe I was ready to see him yet after all the hurts I had dealt him but ah, if it was to be done then I deemed it better he come _here_ rather than the alternate arrangement. Elrond sensed my acquiescence and released my face. I stroked my jaw experimentally, and lowered my eyes from his.

 

‘What has happened to you, Erestor? What happened there that caused you to come to us in such a way?’ Elrond asked, kinder now and my heart was glad. He sat beside me and let me rest my head on his shoulder.

 

‘I have done a terrible thing,’ said I.

 

‘As have we all, Erestor. But terrible things can be forgiven so long as you are contrite and willing.’ Elrond replied, and he brushed the tears from my cheeks just as I had once brushed away his daughter’s.

 

***

 

I spent a quiet week waiting for Glorfindel’s arrival and most of it I spent tending the gardens with Celebrían in profound peace and quiet. She set me on “watering” duty seeing as I was not yet quite adept enough to re-pot the delicate flowers to larger terracotta homes, but I completely did not mind wandering the vast garden, watering can in hand, and showering the young bushes and roses with cool water. When the water ran out, I would return to Celebrían and watch her re-home the young flowers with a careful, caring hand.

 

They reminded me of Glorfindel, the flowers, as you might expect. They were pale and small and quite beautifully dotted about the verdant lawn. I thought of him whenever she brushed the soft petals to test their health. I thought of his kisses, of every touch we had ever shared and the smile that never seemed absent from his face; once.

 

Celebrían would often ask me what I was thinking about when she caught me drifting away into happy memories and we’d share gentle smiles upon my admission. ‘You’re healing,’ she would tell me, matter-of-factly, and I believe I was. There was no roiling and boiling disgust and despair churning my gut, but there was an odd tranquillity merged with slight anxious anticipation instead -- much more preferable, if you ask me.

 

And with this feeling I would sit in the grass besides her and we’d dig up the weeds that threatened to choke the young plants, I sensed there was a moral story to the task but Celebrían would only smile and tilt her silver head whenever I asked. Truly, she was the mother of Elladan and Elrohir!

 

I spent ample time with Elrond, too, in his new study decorated in all the ways he had once dreamed aloud to me in Imladris, covering his eyes with his hands and leaning back in the high chair of council. The chairs here were softer and dark leather, and the desk was a handsome, dark mahogany thing. One felt as though they should be swishing whiskey around a lowball glass to sit with him there, but he forbade me alcohol of any sort. ‘Just until you work things out,’ he’d say with a smirk.

 

We spoke of more serious things, too, of how many elves shared a deep bond of friendship such as the one he and I shared. Of course, I understood what he was attempting to tell me and I smiled but did not care to think any more deeply about the issue, my stubbornness would not be shaken off so easily. But the lesson was well warranted and Elrond persisted, and rightly so, until I admitted internally that it did make sense, and so I _did_ begin to understand these things that should always have been understood.

 

It was a blessed week and part of me wished for it never to end for it provided me with all the comforts I had so dearly missed from Imladris, but I knew I must be reunited with my soul and together forge our new future. Every evening I spent watching Elrond and Celebrían dance in hold about the kitchen as the meat cooked in the pan was a reminder of my own lost love, love that I was ready to feel again.

 

It took me by surprise, but my heart ached for him. For Glorfindel. Elrond had victoriously kissed Celebrían on the cheek when I had told them so, and they had beamed at me together like proud parents. I could not help it -- I smiled back.

 

The day Celebrían came running into the study, letter in hand, some of the old fear clawed at me again. Elrond and I looked up to our silver lady with matching expressions. There was no question as to where the letter had come from, and Elrond took it as it was offered wordlessly to him and opened it and read it all very severely and silently. One might have been able to hear a pin drop onto the polished parquet floor. He did not hand it over to me to read when he was finished, instead he folded it back up and put it back inside the white envelope, neatly.

 

He inhaled and it was a such breath as seemed to steal all the air from the study.

 

‘It’s his reply,’ Elrond said, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards ever so slightly. ‘He’s on his way.’


	14. Chapter 14

I had not been waiting downstairs in the living room when Glorfindel had arrived at Elrond and Celebrían’s cottage in a flurry of hoof beats and footsteps over branches. I heard him but did not see him for I was secreted away in the old spare room we had once inhabited together, surrounded by all my surplus possessions I had not been able to bring with me to New Gondolin. Hiding? One might say I was, indeed! I pawed through my old garments and items, sat cross-legged on the bed in a room where the curtains were drawn but the window was open. His voice came to me from outside, and I might have gasped.

 

He bade Celebrían and Elrond a _good afternoon_ but then immediately pelted them with questions as to my whereabouts and condition. I heard Elrond laugh and pray he hold his tongue and come inside. I heard the door close. The sound rattled my body -- it was excitement! Of course, I remembered too well the last time I had heard his voice so close and how awfully I had treated him, but here he would find me changed just as I had promised, though there would be much I must apologise for besides. He would find me his lover again, and utterly humbled, if truly he wished for it...

 

I clutched one of Glorfindel’s rarely used sleeping robes between my hands and closed my eyes; waiting, waiting. They were talking downstairs, the three of them, and I listened to it all, detachedly, but _heard_ not all that much at all. Their voices alone, those three most dear to me, were simple joy just in themselves. My strength and courage were abound, in a shaky, newborn way.

 

Yet I cannot deny that doubts plagued at me still, but then my nature has lead to expect nothing less; was I truly changed? Was I truly ready? But if I had learned anything during our weeks apart, it was that I must _try_ , even if I was really very afraid. _Courage,_ I told myself, a personal chant, _courage and patience._

 

A profound change from guilt and disgust, I think you will agree.

 

Alone I was sat when eventually the door creaked and his golden head poked round it. Who or what he had expected, I cannot say. His eyes were wide and he was clearly nervous, but of course he would be! Light spilled in from where the door was ajar, burning up the darkness of the bedroom. We looked at one another, mirroring the same kind of delicate anticipation. I barely dared draw breath for fear of frightening him away!

 

‘Erestor,’ he said, a whisper, a precious whisper to test the water.

 

I called his in return, _Glorfindel_ , but my voice failed and I had to cover my face with my hands as I saw him run to me to kneel at the bedside. He was half-laughing, half-crying and told me _it’s alright_ and that _I’m here,_ and two gentle hands I felt prising my own away from my face. It was strange to look down at his as I did then, him being usually so much taller than I, and he looked up to me with a gorgeous smile and exhaled his relief before resting his head in my lap. I stroked his shining tresses and held him thus for a while, my broken warrior come to me with love everlasting.

 

Just as I had pictured on the ship.

 

_Elbereth_. I prayed to the Valar, I sang my thanks with eyes closed and head lifted to the dark ceiling. But my most ardent, most soulful thanks I knew I must save for the man I held. Glorfindel had his eyes closed too, I noticed when I opened back up my own. His golden lashes cast butterfly shadows across his cheeks.

 

‘I have missed you so very, very much,’ he said, stressing every word for me lest I glean not his ardour. ‘And I think I understand you at last.’

 

_Did he?_ I tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and he blinked open his eyes so that I might gauge his words, but the truth of them was apparent enough. It certainly seemed as though we might have reached some new, unspoken accord.

 

‘But we need to talk?’ I asked, hoping the words would not be perceived as a cruel joke. Fortunately, Glorfindel laughed, though it was a tired sound.

 

‘Yes, yes, I think we need to talk.’

 

***

 

I spared no detail in the answers Glorfindel pried from me, so delicate was his current state that I feared any lie or dishonest twisting of the truth would have him shatter, and coincidently as the thought came to me I was brilliantly reminded of the glass vase I had smashed against the floor in Ecthelion’s home, _Valar_ , how I prayed in hindsight that it held little economic or emotional worth.

 

And then I berated myself for my distraction.

 

Glorfindel took my hands in his and called my name, softly, a gentle nudge well needed. He had clambered atop the bed to sit opposite me now, leaning against the headboard as I sat freely, facing him though often diverting my gaze to the trinkets covering the bedside table; evidence of our twined love, surely.

 

I knew I must be honest and forthright if I might even have claim to that love, and Glorfindel waited patiently for me -- as ever.

 

‘Everyone,’ I continued, willing the words that would tell him of my most ugly, most virulent thoughts long concealed and denied voice. ‘Everyone there, in New Gondolin, expected you to be bonded to a warrior of equal talent and standing. I saw the surprise in their faces as you introduced me, I knew what they had expected for you and I know you expected that for yourself, too.’

 

‘There are no warriors of equal talent,’ Glorfindel jested with a stunning little smile. When he saw my own answering one was distinctly lacking any kind of mirth, he bowed and shook his head. ‘I don’t love Ecthelion.’

 

I winced.

 

‘And even now you do not believe me when I say so?’ he asked. I could neither say yes or no but spoke quickly to allay the gathering storm that knitted his brows together. I stroked my thumb across his hand and told him of my days spent in contemplation in Celebrían’s rose gardens and all thoughts and realisations that had come to me there, where the skies had been clear and the air cold and crisp.

 

‘I thought and I understood that which I thought, eventually, and I also dug up countless weeds with gnarled roots,’ said I, and Glorfindel smiled gently, knowing full well I had never been possessed of a green thumb. ‘Your word I am prepared to believe, knowing now the... folly of my actions.’

 

‘And there is that word again,’ Glorfindel said, quietly and merrily.

 

‘I cannot escape it,’ I replied, smiling too.

 

Glorfindel leant forward to kiss me briefly, a soft peck and his hair caught the candlelight so he appeared to blaze as we embraced. Would his spirit soon light up thus? Or would it require longer healing time? Alas, I did not yet know the full extent of the wounds I had caused him and dared not ask him, not yet.

 

‘Does this now mean you’ll come back with me? Erestor, I cannot be without you.’ he brushed his cheek across mine. The contriteness of his words burned me, deeply, and I reached up to caress his face and push my fingers into his hair; to touch him and have him know my affection. He gasped a little and brought us together for a new kiss but I deflected it, unkindly, so his lips pressed a chaste kiss to my cheek.

 

What he had asked was beyond what I would be able to give, there would be no denying such a fact any longer. When I told him so, as softly as I could, I felt him slacken.

 

‘We can make it work, Erestor, it would not be the same as before, I can promise you this!’

 

I closed my eyes and kissed his cheek, but shook my head. I would not let him out of my arms now I had him and he held me tightly in turn, but new promises would have to be made. The flames danced on the wicks of the candles we had lit in our haste to combat the falling night, and now we cast our own dancing shadow on the wall; a mural of us entwined thrown large and moving for both our eyes.

 

‘I am alone there, I cannot return to what we were,’ I said. Glorfindel sighed and urged me to lie with him, so that my head might rest on his chest and my body alongside his. I did not require much urging.

 

‘You have me, always you have me.’

 

‘Do I? It did not seem so when last we were together.’

 

My words were poorly chosen and Glorfindel tensed his arm around me and turned his head, leaving me to curse my barbed nature and ponder how much Glorfindel himself was withholding inside. It would not do to have us both pent up eternally, but how might I seek to relieve him when it was _me_ who caused the majority of his stress? It was all my fault, I knew it plainly.

 

He could not vent his frustrations to me nor mine to him; something had to change, beyond that which already had. Was I pushing fate and the natural order of things too quickly beyond its slow, ordinal march? If I was, then I bade the Valar strike me down where I lay but I would have challenged even Mandos himself if I thought it might restore Glorfindel and I to our former glories.

 

Yes, the surprise in your face is quite appropriate. It is quite amazing what a week in a flower garden will do for one’s tenacity, isn’t it?

 

‘Tell me,’ he said. I wondered at the intent of his request for a moment before remembering our connection and being delighted at its consistency and simple _existence_. I toyed with the laces of his shirt, weaving them through my fingers and wondering how best to word the tumult that I knew I must put forth.

 

There’d be no softening the blow, no matter how I might speak, and I almost regretted that he had asked. _But no, no it is good that we air these things now_. Still, I was reluctant to bruise the fresh affection that had blossomed between us these past hours.

 

‘I felt an absence of, well, anything between us...’ I started but failed to finish, Glorfindel, fortunately, picked up my train of thought and nodded, making a low sound of agreement.

 

‘You felt it too? As did I. It was as we had never bound to one another and never spoken our marital words. I remembered and honoured my vows Erestor, as I believed you did not.’

 

‘How dare you!’ I cried and Elrond and Celebrían might have heard my dulcet tones in their own bedchamber. Upright I bolted, suddenly rankled by his confession. I had no right to the anger that set me gaping with narrowed eyes, for Glorfindel spoke the truth and later I would see so. But then, as it stood, I lost myself needlessly to fresh rage and Glorfindel saw he had spoken out of turn, at least in that he might have chosen kinder words (can one even voice such a statement more kindly?).

 

Glorfindel reached up to call me back to him, _shh_ ing and whispering apologies he need never have spoken save only to balm my pride. ‘I’ve not the gift of rhetoric you have, Erestor, forgive me, forgive me,’

 

I _did_ forgive him and let myself be pressed to his side once again, hearing his heartbeat under my ear and clutching at his shirt as though I expected to be wrested from him suddenly by some foul thing. In truth, I shook until I felt dizzy, feeling as though I may break and succumb to all the wrath and dire things that had held me so under their sway during that miserable time in New Gondolin. _You have broken their hold on you_ , Glorfindel told me, silently. And I knew he was right.

 

‘I want to heal you,’ he whispered, stroking my shoulder. He rested his chin against my brow; we had always fit together immaculately.

 

‘And I wish to be healed. But in New Gondolin I will heal not, and feel only loneliness whether or not it be the reality of the matter.’

 

Glorfindel nodded, quietly listening and the heat of the prior moment of my outburst was ebbed away, gently, gently. I wished there was a wind chime in the room, and made a mental note to perhaps start crafting them for myself.

 

‘Ecthelion owns a part of you, all the folk do and it is a beautiful thing, this loyalty you bear even through these long Ages. The village is a marvel, but it is not for me.’

 

He was quiet, my husband, for a little while. I brushed my fingers up the smoothness of his neck and traced the line of his jaw until he caught my roaming hand in his and brought it to his lips and kissed each of my knuckles.

 

‘Then,’ he said, after he was done and my hand was guided back to rest over his heart, clasped still so tightly in his. ‘We need another option, don’t we?’

 

I nodded, and should have been swamped with relief.

 

But I felt more fatigued then than I had ever done before, even in the war, even playing parent to two bouncing twin toddlers. Glorfindel and I lay together, joined in our weariness at last, and I felt I might sleep against his chest until a new age dawned over Valinor that we might claim in happiness for our own.

 

_Claim this age, you dolt, claim it now_.

 

‘Another option,’ I repeated, could such a thing exist?

 

‘We’ll find one.’ Glorfindel said.

 

And so we made our new promise.


	15. Chapter 15

The journey back to New Gondolin was a much speedier and joyful affair than previously, mayhap because my every footstep was not weighted with dread. The long road through glen and fields was familiar to us both (for entirely the wrong reasons, alas) and I daresay we were eager to put an end to the ills we had shouldered for too long, and so in slight haste we went. We would ride long into the evening and chase the burning sun’s disc through the trees; it was at those times I most regretted declining those invitations Glorfindel had issued me in New Gondolin, to come riding with him and the others down the hills and streams; the sensation was unlike anything else!

 

Everything seemed to melt from me as we rode against the breeze, all malice and repugnant thought stripped from me by the headwind. Of course, anxiety and some measure of fear still resided in me for we were returning to the land where I had fallen so mightily to despair after all, _but not this time_ I would remind myself and take one or two heavy inhalations (tree sap and the autumn night chill, the air was divine), and this time I heeded my own wisdom. Often I would see Glorfindel stealing glances at me as he lead the way, smiling to himself. It was a treasured sight that had been absent too long.

 

At night we propped up a modest tent and roped the horses to a sturdy tree with enough length on the tie so they might wander a little way. There was barely enough room to sit upright in the tent, and I may have grumbled about it once or twice, but Glorfindel laughed and bade me lie down instead, clearly relieved I was able to complain about such menial things again. It was a strange thing to celebrate, my nagging, but it did herald some return to normality, I suppose.

 

We’d remove the trappings of travel from each other, slowly. Glorfindel looked in my eyes as I unlaced him from his breeches, and smiled when my breath quivered. He unbound my hair with grand ceremony, letting it fall about my bare shoulders and combing through the dark, loosely curled locks with his fingers. He buried his face in the crook of my neck and trailed hot kisses there so that I clutched at his back and let my head fall to the makeshift pillow of rolled up spare blankets and such. When the time came to sleep, I did so in his arms, chest to chest with nothing but the sound of his deep breaths and the nightingales to sustain me; but oh, it was enough.

 

When morning dawned we woke with hazy smiles and soft kisses just as we had always done. Glorfindel sang the praises of the new morning and the land left to travel and the sunshine to bask in as we went, I believe I may had made a very ungainly _huff_ and attempted to wrest him back down for another stolen hour of dozing; but I might as well have been wresting a warg. So we were upon the road again bright and early and such was my contentment that I did not realise it was to be our last stretch before arriving in New Gondolin until Glorfindel told me so.

 

Something jolted my stomach. _We’re nearly there_. I had much to face up to and the urge to turn tail was ever a nagging thing in the back of my mind, but ignore it I must and ignore it I did. But I did wonder if things might be smoothed out so easily? If one week apart and a handful of merry days together riding would make things... better? Time alone would tell, it seemed, though the thought was little comfort.

 

A test was impending, certainly. One I must pass or else fail and lose everything.

 

Glorfindel held my hand when we were stood on Ecthelion’s doorstep for the second time. He watched me brush down my robes, a nervous reaction, and bent to let me kiss his cheek and whisper my readiness into his ear. Glorfindel; my titan of patience.

 

He knocked on the door thrice and those few seconds before Ecthelion unlatched it were the most nerve-wracking of my entire life and a most peculiar sense of déjà vu came over me, _I’ve done this before, but this time it will be done better_. My determination was fragile and I held my breath for the duration of the wait, in fact, I was probably turning purple by the time Ecthelion spied us.

 

He paused to gape for a moment, and then pulled us both into a hug and stammered his relief to see us side-by-side once again. I didn’t question how much he knew or how indeed he might have come to know so much, no, you’ll be surprised to know I clung to him; a subconscious manifestation of the desire I had to apologise for my treating of him, my thinking of him! I had been so wrong -- and the sensation was quite unusual to me!

 

When Ecthelion released us we were invited into his house again and I hesitated a moment before crossing the threshold, vividly reminded of my actions the last time I was here. Shame swelled in me, but I knew it must be beat, must be accepted and then moved on from. Glorfindel had stepped through after Ecthelion and now held his hand out to me; I steeled myself and took it. He smiled and led me in to the living room that was the same as I remembered (minus one crystal vase).

 

Only now it was daytime and the curtains were open wide. The sunshine spilled in and the shadows were short and insubstantial. It would be a fine day to sit out in the goat field, perhaps, but there was talking to be had that was not for the ears of the goats -- or any passing elves, for that matter.

 

Talk we did, for a long time, of all the things I had spoken of to Elrond and Celebrían -- so largely my own failings and absurdities. Ecthelion listened and nodded his head often, seeming to know already grand amounts of what I was divulging. He and Glorfindel had obviously conversed during my absence and whereas before the thought might have churned up a foul envy in my gut -- I found myself quite relieved that Glorfindel had had an ear to rely on. I met Ecthelion’s eyes as I came to the end of my grim monologue, having explained my distance and snobbishness, and here I ought to have done no less than fallen to my knees and begged his forgiveness! He was possessed of a kind face and warm eyes -- he did not deserve any of what I had inflicted upon him.

 

The time had come to apologise.

 

But, as you might expect with me being me, well, I royally fluffed it up.

 

‘Ecthelion,’ said I, full of intent to make it a grand and honest apology encompassing each aspect of my previous ill nature. But I choked at the very last moment. ‘Ecthelion, I am so very sorry I broke your vase.’

 

The Lord of the Fountain could not contain his smirk, and fell about laughing much to my embarrassment and surprise. Glorfindel was snickering too, sat beside me. He put an arm about my shoulder and as I whispered _I wasn’t meant to say that!_ he said only my name, _Erestor_ , with laughter in his voice and pressed a kiss to my temple.

 

‘Trouble yourself not over one dusty old vase! I understand, my friend, and thank you. You show me courage and honour.’

 

I felt so dreadfully wretched for a moment, a pale ghost of previous emotion. Courage and honour? _Elbereth_ , there seemed to be no other two qualities that encompassed me less! But I balked not and bowed my head, Ecthelion’s forbearance and infinite warmness humbled me. He was a good sort indeed and as daft as it may sound, I rather felt a pride in myself at being able to admit so.

 

Small steps were still steps, you see.

 

Ecthelion clapped his hands together.

 

‘So, will you be staying again? The room upstairs is yours if you wish it!’

 

Glorfindel drew me closer to him with the arm about my shoulder, had he felt me tense? Even so, I was glad to lean on him.

 

‘Not this time, Ecthelion,’ he said genially, ‘we really ought to start thinking of more permanent lodgings for ourselves, besides!’

 

Ecthelion nodded thoughtfully. ‘Well I certainly understand, and even if you’ll not stay with me here then by all mean, rest up in my lady’s house for as long as she is absent.’

 

_My lady?_

_My lady._

Ecthelion had a lady?

 

My mouth might have gone dry. Glorfindel gave me an _exceedingly_ knowing look from the corner of his eye.

 

A flush, a wave, a torrent of utter relief came over me then, sat in Ecthelion’s living room where last I had felt so rueful and cruel. What an idiot I was, what a marvellous fiend I’d been!

 

He had a lady.

 

I’d been a fool, and yet I embraced the admission and cared not if my sudden smile was over-obvious. My chest felt lighter than ever it had done before!

 

Oh, how I should have known logic and reason would come to my rescue again -- my faith should never have faltered, not in them but neither in Glorfindel! I bade myself make another mental note to greet this lady of Ecthelion’s as treasured sister if ever our paths were to cross.

 

***

 

Glorfindel and Ecthelion desired some time to catch up and whilst they insisted I was quite alright to remain privy to their conversation I thought it best I remove myself and give them occasion to speak more openly; a thing I never would have done before, but I was abound on levity and might have gone skipping down the orchard lane.

 

But instead I wandered not too far at all and remained in Ecthelion’s garden. There was a patch of small purple wildflowers growing beside the fence and they bobbed their delicate heads, beckoning me over to join them. Upon the grass I sat, twining my fingers into the dewy blades and delighting in full lungfuls of outdoor air as though I had been locked up underground and ceiling and deprived of freedom for a century or two! A new chance had been bestowed upon me, one I was quite certain I would not waste.

 

A small flotilla of rotund white clouds chased the sun across the sky and I watched with my face turned heavenwards for a time, content to _be_ as I had not been in a very long time.

 

‘Erestor?’

 

Grief, envy, loathing... These things held no sway over me. I was a creature of birdsong and peace now, as always I should have been.

 

‘Erestor!’

 

Happy. I was happy.

 

‘Erestor, young thing, don’t you rightly ignore me!’

 

My eyes snapped open and I startled myself, not even knowing I had closed them to doze against the fence posts! Who else might be gliding towards me dressed in lemon colours with fresh flowers in a wicker basket? The elder elleth, ah, and I believed my greeting smile had her feign a theatrical kind of shock.

 

‘My lady,’ said I as she perched herself next to me. She peered at me, probably thinking me to be ruddy and drunk or else quite delusional, but her expression cleared when laughter came from the house of the Fountain.

 

‘So it is done, then? You have broken words, all three of you?’

 

‘All three of us, yes. Much has been laid to rest that should never have woken in the first place, and the world is better for it.’

 

‘My sweet poet,’ she said, fondly, brightly, beaming at me and putting one of her delicate hands over mine. ‘I would say I do not believe it if my heart didn’t yearn for a happy ending! Shall we arrange a festival in celebration?’

 

The elleth laughed when my smile dropped and she assured me that no, no, she would not do such a thing and that I might well stop pouting. I took the liberty of pouting just a moment longer before remembering something I had meant to ask and leant forward to her though I was quite sure there were no others around who might chance to eavesdrop.

 

‘Ecthelion has a lady, or so I have heard, why have I not met her yet?’ I asked, hoping to sound casual but the elder’s wry smirk told me I had not quite struck the mark.

 

‘She is part of the company gone visiting the woodland realms, Erestor, and will be back soon enough, or so we hope.’

 

‘Ah, and this is the same company that your husband rides in?’

 

‘The very same, they have family in those forest places and many relatives fresh from the boats of Endor.’

 

I wondered of the woman who might have captured Ecthelion’s heart and of her being so far away. _Let us hope she takes kindly to her house being rented out during her absence_ , thought I and wondered how prudent it might be to have Glorfindel lock up any vases of fragility before we took our lodgings there.

 

‘And what is she like?’

 

‘Oh, she is a good girl. She met with a bad end during the Fall but then many other folk you find living here can well claim the same or worse, you know that. But she keeps Ecthelion whole and hale, much like yourself for Goldielocks.’ I bowed my head to smile modestly, but the elder made a sudden _ah!_ ‘Look at that smile! Look at how beautiful you are! And how young! I’ll be wanting to see much more of it, you understand?’ she asked and I nodded, though I wasn’t wholly sure I _did_ understand. Again.

 

The elleth winked at me, just how Glorfindel often did, and offered me a yellow flower from her wicker basket.


	16. Chapter 16

Ecthelion’s lady had impeccable interior design standards; the house that she owned was dark and beautiful and bathed in rich, earthy colours of deep wine and chocolate browns. The doors and banisters were of dark wood, beautifully carved and the ceilings were low and beamed. It was heavenly there, quiet and lit to match with flickering candles dancing behind frosted sconces. I might have said I regretted that I did not get the chance to look around more closely and peek into each homely room, but the distraction I experienced was rather more inviting.

 

‘You never told me he had a lady,’ I said, leaning to grant Glorfindel better access to my neck. His hands were on my waist and I was being steadily guided backwards to somewhere. I put my trust in him though I was certain I could probably predict his motivations.

 

But I wanted to play as much as he did. It’d been too long...

 

‘I shouldn’t have needed to tell you that,’ he purred.

 

‘You might have told me.’

 

‘I might.’

 

His hands grew ever bolder upon my body and I felt the same impatience, pulling at the collars of his shirt to signal my wantonness. He rose from my neck to smile and brush our lips together, barely a kiss. It wouldn’t do. I told him so and felt his low laughter stirring the arousal between us.

 

He took his time in kissing me, in teasing my lips with his and sharing with me his breaths that were as shallow as my own. When we joined, at last, our passions burned slow and chaste for a time and simple relief at being _whole_ overrode all else. We needed one another, yes, but the night was ours and there were many nights we had spent apart that needed compensating for. He parted my lips and I let him, easily.

 

And then just as quickly as he had inflamed my need for him he pulled away, to my disproval, to take my hand and whisper _come_.

 

Glorfindel led me through the hallway where hung framed vistas of towers and oceans painted by the hands of Tirion, my ancestors, but I paid them little mind and thought only on following wherever I might be led. We passed more and more sconces where the flames lapped and shuddered, climbed a dozen stairs to reach a tidy landing and pushed into one or two wrong rooms before coming to a grand bedchamber. Clearly, it wasn’t the master bedroom but it was quite cosy enough for us.

 

I was lead to the bed and on the bed I sat in the middle with Glorfindel beside me. He took my face in his hands and kissed me, winding his fingers into my hair where he might so lightly _pull_ from time to time to elicit yelps of pleasure from me. As much as my body and heart bade me give into him and give myself to him and have him move inside me, I knew there was more that might need to be said...

 

‘I’m... I’m a fool,’ I said, in-between wicked kisses that stirred me, more and more, to submission. Glorfindel shook his head and made to take me again and dismiss my concerns in a way words might not, but I braced my hands against his chest to see him eye to eye. ‘No, truly, I am.’

 

He brushed his nose against mine before kissing the tip of it.

 

‘You,’ said he, and he stroked the line of my jaw with gentle thumbs. ‘are the other half of me. You are my soul mate, _you_.’

 

I believed him and he beamed when I told him so. I closed my eyes and rested brow to brow with him, who was my husband, and for the first time in a very, very long time I actually felt worthy of the corresponding title.

 

‘Don’t leave me again,’ he whispered.

 

And it was a promise I could keep, healed and renewed as I was, and so sealed it with a kiss.

 

Our embrace quickly grew in intensity, no more I had to say that might be conveyed with words and I longed only to join my body to his now we were one in spirit and soul again. Glorfindel had similar aims and I felt his smile and clever fingers pulling the laces of my robe loose. As I waited and allowed him to do so (with tickling anticipation), I let my hands roam where they would over his chest, pushing them down his toned stomach and down further still until his kiss grew fervent for his _want_.

 

I would have advocated caution in a most teasing manner if I hadn’t been aching, myself. He bade me rise a little so he could pull my robe over my head and in a quick flurry the garment lay flung and forgotten down the side of the bed. A coolness of air kissed the bareness of my back and Glorfindel took a moment to admire that which he had uncovered. As he repositioned himself in front of me and bent to trail kisses up my chest, I let my head fall back, rapturous and warm was his touch and I’d have him taste all of me which might delight him.

 

He flicked his tongue over my nipple and looked up to me with blue, shining eyes that knew full well their effect on me. He lavished me more with his tongue (and teeth to hear me sigh and clutch at his shoulders) and I would have had him within me then, right then, all of him...

 

_Patience,_

I laughed and was torn from my lusty preoccupations to push him down to the mattress where then I sat astride him and gave first contact to our groins. His erection was hot under my own, and how my hands longed to wander down the lithe body to gratify him... Glorfindel lifted his hips to grind them up against mine, hearing my inner machinations again no doubt, but no, _patience, was it?_

His answering smile was paired with a most impatient groan.

 

And now that wouldn’t do, either. So bent I to his stomach where I pulled free his shirt that had been tucked into the rather elaborate belt he wore, and slipped my hands up his stomach, under the shirt. He bucked a little, I fanned out my fingers to appreciate, to feel, the strength and muscle of the elf under my hands, and all the power that such physique promise; all the pleasure, too.

 

He was a marvel of physical geography, even clothed, a wonder of the world that was all my own to travel.

 

Glorfindel was reaching down to pull off the shirt in that way the elves of the militia and soldiery always do, crossing their arms and then pulling the shirt over their head; I’d never been able to accomplish such masterful undressing but as Glorfindel bore himself to me -- the thoughts were lost.

 

I kissed him and we lay together chest to chest. He gathered my hair to one side of my neck and stroked a hand down the length of it to my shoulder blades and as far as he might reach down to the underside of my stomach where the skin was sensitive and eager for his roaming touch. I shivered, he bit my lip and wished me to kiss him deeper -- a request easily granted, for my hunger grew wilder each time we brushed up against one another, skin to skin. It was a playful kiss, one coloured with _promise_ and one that fell to deep passion as gentle mirth gave way to more carnal designs. Glorfindel broke the kiss to draw breath but resumed it fiercely pushing up his hips, once again, and so I pushed against him and shuddered.

 

I called his name, with eyes closed momentarily.

 

Glorfindel growled, and I teased his parted lips with a tongue. His eyes brightened, then hazed with a familiar lust and I laughed as our roles were suddenly reversed and so it was I who was pressed into the mattress with a mighty Elf-lord seeking position between my legs. It gave me a proud kind of pleasure that I still remembered each of these small tricks that sent him wild.

 

Around his neck I draped my arms and we met to kiss again. Glorfindel bit at my lip and nudged his nose against mine, an eager demand. And so I gave him what he wanted, what I wanted, too, and pushed my tongue into his mouth to stroke his. Slow, achingly slow, was the kiss but so often is the ache better than the climax that we fed our blissful pain. His hands lifted my thighs to cradle his hips and he pushed against me, the heat of his cock against my own in time to our embrace and oh, I realised how much I had missed this, how much I’d missed _him_ , truly.

 

Each caress of his tongue, each slow thrust of his hips was eliciting breathless moans of increasing volume from me and I might sooner have stopped my own heart from beating than silence them, but Glorfindel whispered for _more_ and the very word, whispered wickedly into my mouth as we broke for air, was enough to draw out a low sound that was a plea for the very same; _more_.

 

Glorfindel withdrew from our kiss somewhat reluctantly and yet fell back easily to push into my mouth, one short, urgent moan enough to bind him to my whim. He smiled after a time and slowed our embrace to something vaguely chaste, whispering of how he other ideas but saying nothing else on what they might be though my mind wandered to most explicit images. Glorfindel laughed, kissed the corners of my mouth and then sat up and moved off my hips. He was tugging off my breeches, as gently as his impatience would bid him, and I shivered once I was adequately divested; he pushed his hands up my bare thighs, all the way up.

 

I watched him there by my feet, stroking with full palms the softness of my inner legs and bowing to press fairy kisses to my kneecaps, which he raised to his lips. His eyes were closed as he did so, his long, golden lashes that the candlelight adored. And from there his attentions went north. I closed my eyes and clutched fistfuls of my own hair feeling his first, hot breath upon my erection, freed to him and painfully untouched. He prolonged my sweet suffering with a churlish delight, stroking the length of me with just fingertips, watching me as though only mildly interested in my reaction, and teasing the head of my arousal with flicks of his tongue that never, never lasted long enough...

 

Until they did. He took me into his mouth and I might have instinctively pushed up, I know not, for blind pleasure consumed me and I voiced it unabashedly. Glorfindel stroked me, slow and fully, with one hand and used his wet, clever tongue to lap at my tip. I shuddered when he took me deeper, when he groaned his own arousal with me in his mouth still, when he licked up my entire length and pushed my legs apart in his eagerness.

 

But he stopped short of my climax, barely, and looked up to me with parted lips and ragged breath. I called his name (so often does it fall from my lips in our lovemaking) and called him back to me lest the sight of him there be my undoing! On his tongue I tasted the essence of myself, ever a strange experience, but we kissed eagerly without thought for aesthetic now, only _again_ he cut our passion premature.

 

He pulled away, I sighed and made to move my hands to his face to persuade him to my lips again. But he was resistant to my charm. Glorfindel caught my hands and kissed the knuckles on each before setting them back down on my chest. He kissed the top of my nose again and smiled, brushing my cheek with the back of my hand in what I thought to be an unexpected interlude to our foreplay. But as the hand drew closer to my mouth and a finger of his sought entry; I understood and shuddered anew.

 

I held his wrist and took his finger into my mouth eagerly. Our eyes locked as I wetted him, he swallowed as he added a second finger and a third at my urging. I heard his bated breath and we watched one another eagerly, savouring the moment of calm before the undoubtable _ravishes_ that were to surely come next.

 

I couldn’t wait, but Glorfindel had me suck his fingers longer, brushing the hair from my face with his free hand, a gesture of affection and reassurance. Whether he was concerned for the pain I might feel if we prepared shoddily or whether he simply was moved to arousal by the sight of my tongue curling about his fingers -- it is impossible to say, perhaps both? Either way, when I began to whimper impatiently, brimming with a need to be filled, Glorfindel took his cue. He shot me a most wicked smile before withdrawing his fingers from my mouth, slowly.

 

He retreated to his former position by my feet and pushed my legs apart.

 

‘ _Yes,_ ’

 

With a kiss to my thigh to signal of his readiness, I relaxed myself for him and he stroked his finger, slick and wet, down and around my opening. _He’s going to tease me_ , I realised, as he barely breeched me, and then again. I raked back my hair in a manner most desperate and sounded another eager yelp, Glorfindel met my eyes and then lowered them to my groin, focused now and my heart, if you’ll excuse the common phrase, skipped a beat.

 

A long, wet finger entered me. I moaned, gutturally, and spread my legs further and hoped Glorfindel would satisfy my need for him, for more of him to move in me. But he used only that one finger to curl and stroke and search and I reached down occasionally to guide him to where my pleasure resided.

 

He needed little instruction however, we had come to know one another’s bodies intimately during the long count of centuries had been and lain together but still he looked ever and anon up to me as he drew closer and closer; seeking affirmation that I gave as best I could with smiles that were hazed somewhat and dreamy. When he found it, that part of me that’d send us both to ecstasy, I grasped at the bed sheets and lifted my hips, an automatic response to being penetrated so _well_.

 

Glorfindel soothed the initial surges of lust with more warm kisses to my thighs, and pushed down my hips with a free hand and he used his other more boldly now, stroking me and asking if his technique was to my liking with voice deep and completely sinful. Of course, I could barely formulate basic sentences that were not punctuated with quaking breaths, and yet fortunately he knew to take them as _yes_ es. He added his second and third fingers quickly then and I closed my eyes and felt pure, true heaven.

 

And yet it was only a pale ghost of what was to come.

 

I let out a moan, one ending in a high whimper, and Glorfindel couldn’t help the shivering breath that escaped him, either. He worked me deep and thoroughly and whispered _yes_ and _that’s it_ when I began to move my body, to scratch my nails up my stomach, my chest and neck and then push my fingers into my hair.

 

There was _want_ in his eyes as he watched me. _Good,_ I pushed out more breathless gasps to whet him and spur on his fingers that drove in and out of me with gathering speed and a touch of frenzy. It would be easy to spend myself thus, I knew, to simply watch him there with mouth agape and forehead beaded with sweat, to watch him pleasuring me so expertly with broad fingers and topple over the edge into bliss.

 

But there was greater pleasure to be had and pleasure which we might share more closely; and I deemed it was time. It’d been too long since we’d shared raptures with one another, after all. I gave him a mental nudge, unable to compile anything more sophisticated, and he slowed his rhythm and rode out my shivering aftershocks until he was pulled out of me completely.

 

‘Erestor,’ he cooed, sated and crawled over my body to lie at my side. He smiled and came close to taste the heated breaths falling fast from my lips. He licked them and then again when I stroked my tongue against his, and so we were captured in a new kiss; deep and noisy. ‘Erestor,’ he said again, and I tasted the name on his tongue, my name.

 

‘Take me,’

 

‘We’ve all night,’ he smiled, meeting each eager little kiss I bestowed upon him. ‘There’s no need to rush through the pleasures we might-’

 

‘Please,’

 

I lifted my leg to brush my thigh over his still concealed hardness and slowly there I worked him and felt his kisses slacken, his eyes close and his sigh of temptation hot on my lips. I asked him again if he would not take me, if he did not wish to feel me and have me as he wanted, how he wanted...

 

‘I do,’ he said or growled rather, the carnal echo of our wedding vow and bit my lip so I groaned my joy. ‘I do.’

 

His passion was live, his dominance surging, and he sat up at the head of the bed and held his hand out to me who lay still resting on my side. His hand I took and sat myself upon his legs. One thing remained to be dealt with before ought else and that was the accursed breeches Glorfindel was still wearing so late into our coupling! I took my time with the laces, letting each fall between my fingers and bestowing looks of most _filthy_ intent upon my fair Elven Lord who watched enraptured.

 

But it was my eyes that widened, my breath that hitched in my throat when I pulled free his substantial length. There wasn’t a moment to waste (none to spend wresting his breeches off completely, certainly) and despite Glorfindel’s earlier admonition, he neither balked nor complained not when I took him to mouth, no, in fact he rather gasped my name.

 

His erection was as impressive as the rest of him, naturally, and so some time it took for me to coat him liberally. I flicked my tongue across his width, held firmly, and sucked as hard as I dared the head of his cock. Each second it was not within me I deemed to be a complete waste and if what Glorfindel had said was indeed true and we had the rest of the night to worship one another, well, then there would be time for more thorough oral liaisons later.

 

I might have cried out with my need at that moment and Glorfindel sensed it for just as desperate was his own. _Come_ , he bid me, and I positioned myself over his lap at his bidding, shaking with pent up anticipation come at last to the very brink of satisfaction. He adjusted the length of himself, he aligned us and smiled as I whispered into his ear pleas of _have me_ and simple gasps of _please_. And then I felt it, his cock pushing against me and then I saw it, the glint in his eyes and words unspoken on the tip of his tongue.

 

We kissed, briefly, and then against his neck I rested my head; and sank down onto him.

 

Glorfindel stroked my back and neck and _shushed_ and purred as I bit back the pain, bright and white hot splitting me to my core. He promised he would make it better and he promised he’d make it good and slow, _how you like it_ , and I smiled through the uncomfort into his neck and beseeched him _do it quick_.

 

Slowly, slowly and carefully we started moving in perfect unison, chest to chest so Glorfindel might hold me close to him and push up ever more boldly into me. It hurt, oh, I won’t deny it, but such barriers much be pushed through in order to reach ultimate joys and I clasped his shoulders, perhaps too tightly, but he made no complaint and rubbed small circles on the flat of my back and whispered always how _I’ll make it better._

And he did, I never doubted him for a moment. Sharp pain dulled and turned to aches, divine and increasingly hot. I pushed down to meet them and pushed down to better ride him, and he knew my discomfort was at an end. He whispered my name and I kissed the underside of his jaw before leaning back to look at him.

 

He told me he loved me.

 

And I said it back, and each word was a truth unto itself.

 

Glorfindel smiled and at first it was a sweet thing wholly uncorrelated to the fact we were deeply joined in body and spirit, but then it shifted as I began to move myself over him and set for us a slow, leisurely pace of lovemaking that was indeed my preference. I wanted to feel every inch of him within me, wanted him to fill me completely so I might rise up and plunge onto him again and again and so I did. Glorfindel set his hands to my thighs to bring me down to him heavier and my own hands I wove back into his hair for something to cling to as my body trembled.

 

Our breaths came hard and hot. My sight receded whilst every other part of me seemed to have heightened talent for _feeling_ and we gave and took what the other most needed. Each thrust of his cock, wide and long, wrested from me the most ardent cries of _more_ and _deeper_ and so my voice spurred Glorfindel on to perform at his peak capacity. We would come together now and then to share shallow kisses of tongues and hazy smiles before I would succumb to mewls of lust and throw back my head.

 

Down my body stroked his hand, lingering on my nipples or over the flatness of my stomach. Hard I rode him, hard he pushed back and the sweat beaded on his neck and made him seem to glisten, but never did our pace quicken to anything more than a lingering, grinding dance.

 

He was groaning with exertion, a deep, low sound from somewhere base in his body; it had been too long for us both to expect any substantial longevity to our sex, I knew, but even if it were to be so -- I would provide whatever pleasures for us both that might be had. I bit my lip and covered the hand of his teasing the hardness of my nipples and moved it down my body where it might be put to better use. Glorfindel smiled and knew my plan but had one of his own to exact, lifting his hips to reach up long and deep within me, striking where I was most vulnerable to _bliss_ , and for a moment my plan was lost as fire burned behind my eyes, I cried, I screamed out and when he withdrew from me -- I shook.

 

_A God,_ whispered I, pushing my tongue into the warmness of his mouth, _you are a God._ And a God whose hands upon me I would have, hands divine to me as though they belonged indeed to one of the mighty and so I moved them, as I had originally intended, down and down and easily he let me guide him to my arousal. Glorfindel needed no instruction nor whispered word of longing to set his fingers about me, stroking gently to the rhythm of our sex and rubbing a thumb back and forth over the head so I laughed, a sound of a most frantic lust, and gripped a lock of his hair tight between my fingers.

 

How else might I describe the night we shared? It was union between two souls eternally bonded together in love and peace and more than that it was the celebration of a future unmarred, at last; we had a future that might be looked to with excitement! Blurred possibilities of what we might come to possess or achieve flitted through my head as we made love, visions of a life we might forge here in the land of tranquillity, but I lingered not too long on any one thing and what elf might who had the balrog slayer so deeply within them!?

 

But I was not going to last, and Glorfindel, when I told him so, bade me not worry as his own end drew near. I felt it, true enough, exhaustion looming but climax looming faster. We kissed, shakily for neither could claim stable breath. My moans become sharp, high things and Glorfindel closed his eyes, his face strained in concentration, and gave all he could to send me to my orgasm.

 

I gave in to him.

 

I called. I cried out and tossed back my head and felt my body shudder out its completion. Bells rung in my ears and I could not open my eyes as Glorfindel came not a moment later, filling me as I had so wanted, warmly and completely. He gasped so beautifully.

 

I drew a fractured breath and kept my eyes closed.

 

‘Erestor?’

 

We moved together, still, helping the other through the tremors that always followed such heated sex. I set my hands on his chest, slick with sweat. There was a hale, healthy heart beating ten-to-the-dozen under my palms.

 

‘Erestor, love?’ When I opened my eyes it was as though waking from long, pleasant healing sleep, though nothing of the past hour or so had been a dream. Bare, joined and sated we were, both of us, and such a simple fact moved me almost to tears considering the turbulence of the weeks prior. ‘Are you well, are you okay?’

 

Glorfindel. My husband. I blinked to clear the haze from my vision, and never had he seemed to handsome to me, exerted utterly from our lovemaking and breathing raggedly. I pushed back his hair as I leant forward to rest us brow to brow.

 

He smiled, relieved.

 

‘My flower,’ said I, a _thank you_ if ever there was one.

 

‘Aye,’ he said, in return, softly as befitted the late hour. ‘Yours.’


	17. Chapter 17

‘Our house should be smaller than this.’

 

He was stroking long lines up my arm to shoulder and the morning peaked in through the open curtains; and there are no better sensations to be woken to, I tell you this now. It was as pleasant a morning as ever in New Gondolin, but the only one I had ever yet greeted with any amount of joy. I rubbed my eyes, the sun was bright and light and clearly paid no heed to the encroaching autumn that coloured the trees anew.

 

‘Our house?’ asked I, groggily. Any resident of Imladris whoever needed to turn in early morning reports to my door may tell you that I am categorically _not_ a morning person. But for Glorfindel only I make my exceptions (and even then, only sometimes or on special occasions, though Glorfindel may usually find one or two _special occasions_ in each mundane day).

 

‘Ecthelion told me of a small settlement, very small.’ Glorfindel began, as though musing the idea aloud to himself as well as I. I settled against the bareness of his chest and let him carry on his gentle stroking of my arm, listening for my heart urged me bring myself, as best I could, to lucidity. ‘It’s being constructed besides the woods, a few miles north of here, with houses being built even as we speak.’

 

_Ah_. I smiled, lazily.

 

‘Is there a house for us being built, Glorfindel?’

 

‘If you’d like that,’ he laughed, a soft sound to my poor ears.

 

I thought for a time whether or not I would like that, though my mind was practically decided, already. I thought of the cottage beside the river and of course we could not pack up and return to burden Celebrían and Elrond with our eternal presence, but then there had never been a time when I had lived so far away from the Lord.

 

But the idea of a space for me and Glorfindel, a space that was ours alone to mould to a beautiful dwelling? The thought elated me; it was how our Valinor story had always been intended to end, after all, we had just taken to scenic route to get there.

 

And so I smiled and nodded and splayed out the fingers on the hand I had upon his chest. His skin was smooth though scarred here and there. _Would that I could heal each one_ , thought I as I brushed my fingers delicately over the raised skin.

 

‘We can build a proper home together!’ Glorfindel said, excited as a pup and I felt myself smiling despite the early hour and that ancient siren call of _just a few more minutes._ When I closed my eyes I heard the leaves in the wind, the chatter of early risers out to buy bread and eggs.‘We can have a garden, too!’

 

‘With flowers,’ I said. Oh, it was a rather indulgent conversation but I reckoned I owed him more than a few and he did so enjoy them. Do not believe the tales you read in the old tomes of the grimfaced golden Lord moved by doom and death; Glorfindel was, and remains, a creature of tradition and romance and _peace_ most of all.

 

‘Flowers, yes!’ he laughed, bringing my fingers to his lips. ‘Flowers and ravens and all manner of birds.’

 

He went on in such a fashion, naming the colours and sounds we might bring to our homely little garden in the house we didn’t yet have, but it was such a joy to listen to him, for how long had it been since we’d simply lain as thus and spoken of no weighty thing? _Too long, but never again_.

 

Perhaps it was not the most realistic thought, but at the time it seemed so, and still does, truth be told.

 

I dozed, half-awake, to the sounds of Glorfindel’s daydreams and the morning call of New Gondolin; creaking front doors and clinking milk bottles. We could find a similar peace, I knew it in my heart, though it seemed almost too good to be true! I berated myself for ever picking holes in plans of hope, _what will be will be_.

 

‘We will make a home for you, Erestor.’ Glorfindel said, more sombrely so I opened my eyes and lifted my head to gaze at the sincerity of his face.

 

He brushed my cheek with the back of his hand.

 

‘Thank you.’ I said, in a small voice choked with love. Oh, I felt as though I ought to have said more or spoken more elaborately, but there was nought else I could rouse to speech. Perhaps I didn’t need to, for Glorfindel’s soft smile was _knowing_ \-- and one does not easily hide sentiment from one’s soulmate.

 

You see, in all my life, since I was an elfling even, all I have ever asked for is a _home_. Lindon, well, I deemed that I had failed my homeland terribly after the war of Last Alliance and never again could I take joy in the lowlands beside the sea, knowing the fate to which my fair homeland was bound. Rivendell, my fair Imladris, she who I had help found and sustain was now faded and empty and New Gondolin simply did not have what I needed.

 

Glorfindel had become my home, for home is a _feeling_ and that feeling is bound up with him. We might well live out in the wilderness together, sharing that absurdly small tent and surviving off the rainwater and dry twigs for fire, but it would be home so long as we dwelt there together; he and I. He was my everything and I say that without cringing even a little at the cliché.

 

And at last; I was clear minded.

 

I was Erestor again.


	18. Chapter 18

And so now we come to the present.

 

Celebrían adores our garden and has brought some clippings and seeds from her own roses bushes and fruit trees for us to plant. I accept them humbly and she kisses my cheek, remarking for my ears alone how brightly I shine. I thank her, and return to her very much the same sentiment before lifting the conversation to lighter topics, begging her help with the re-potting of certain laughable vegetables I have been trying to grow.

 

Glorfindel and Elrond sit together and talk over a bottle of light, sparkling wine in the kitchen. Elrond lifts a glass to us when he sees his wife and I nattering about _compost_ and such, not topics I can claim any kind of mastery in, no, but the archaic studies of runes and registers do not often come to daily use in Valinor, I am afraid.

 

But I have kept all my old books.

 

‘You look well!’ Elrond calls and his voice comes loud and merry from the open door.

 

‘It’s been some years, old friend, so I should certainly hope so!’ I call back and he smirks and knocks his glass together with Glorfindel’s, a private toast to whatever they might have been discussing beforehand.

 

Celebrían glows at my side and shares a private glance with her husband. They have attained their own happiness in the time since we all landed here, in Valinor, and the pains each of us might have bore to the Undying Lands have dimmed and ebbed away somewhat; Elladan and Elrohir do their parents proud, we four know it, and Arwen, ah, we speak of her often and laughter is ever in our voices. And love, always love for our lonely queen, our wayward star, but then is such not the nature of stars; to wander?

 

I do not voice this thought.

 

Glorfindel has found peace, at last, and my heart is gladdened each time I spy him with a smile or laughter brightening his face; and often can one hear such sounds, like clear bells ringing out from our modest house. It is strange to see him so relaxed at times, without the constant burden of duty and vigilance to maintain, and if truth be told he _is_ a creature of sunshine and lazy days. We walk often, hand in hand, along the boundaries of our land looking each way and wondering aloud what might lie behind that mountain or along that stream.

 

But it may be a while before we undertake any more adventures.

 

However, we do often visit New Gondolin (and return with more apple ale and tarts than one could ever possibly need), we visit the new settlements similar to our own along the beaches and forests, we visit the wooded kingdoms and Lindir, too, wherever he might roam along the roads through Valinor that only a minstrel might know. Ecthelion oft comes to visit _us_! And he greets me as friend and I him. All is well.

 

His lady bears his children now, do you know? Twins it seems! Good grief...

 

And Ecthelion has already named Glorfindel and I as guardians, an honour we accepted before almost he had finished the question. Things have healed between us and I shall regale the children of his and his lady’s with the tales of their warrior family; though not all warriors prove their worth in battle, mind you.

 

When Elrond calls us to the kitchen we each take a seat, the four of us gathered in new happiness and fresh hope, and one cannot help but think that _yes, this was the Valinor that was promised to us_. The Lord of the Last Homely House raises his glass in toast, to me and Glorfindel and to himself and Celebrían.

 

Our four glasses sing together. When Glorfindel kisses me softly, the others coo.

 

And when, on the nights we share together where the stars are out and the winds are low, he moves in me and we lie tangled and spent, we lie in our bed and watch through the window all that we might see. The trees dance for us, slowly.

 

And it is home, at last.

 

We are home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you stuck with this until the end, then thank you so much!


End file.
